


Silver-on-Silver

by Sensue



Series: Suitcase of Memories [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Caretaking, Family, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Pre-Series, Secrets, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), sepsis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Post "Friendly Fire by Ridley C. James", perhaps kitchen-table surgery wasn't a great idea after all. Hurt/Comfort!Caleb. Angry!Mac. Teen!chesters. Angst galore! Sam accidentally shot Caleb in the gut during a hunt and Dean took the blame to protect Sam from their father. Bobby took the bullet out in a motel room.
Series: Suitcase of Memories [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887088
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Silver-on-Silver

**Author's Note:**

> Highly suggest that you read "Friendly Fire" by Ridley C. James on Fanfiction.net first, but I wrote a quick recap of it within the first few paragraphs if you want to just get reading. There are also some references from my story "Crossing the Line".
> 
> Location: Ozarks, then NYC.
> 
> Timeline: April 1997

Caleb Reaves figured that he was out of the woods, both figuratively and literally after he was shot in the Ozarks. He and Dean both covered up Sam's accidental weapon's discharge with Dean taking the brunt of the heat. Dean mentioned that he'd blackmailed Bobby Singer into keeping their secret, realizing that the caliber of the bullet matched Sam's rifle and not Dean's 9 mm. John and Bobby carried him out of the woods, back to the cheap motel suite that had become the Winchester's home for a couple of months to complete an impromptu kitchen-table surgery to get the bullet out. Bobby had watched over him throughout the night and deemed him 'fine' enough to leave him in John Winchester's 'tender care' the next afternoon to return to Sioux Falls. Bobby kept quiet when Dean had threatened to tell Dr. Mackland Ames, mama-bear from hell, about pulling a bullet out of his precious son's gut.

Thanks to the accident, he and Dean had been forced to listen to John's lectures as they'd been assured more training to prevent such a thing from reoccurring. He was exhausted and regretted the cover-up after the lecture. While he didn't always agree with the Knight's standpoints, when thinking about how much worse it could have been, Sam getting extra training would have been beneficial. The kid might not want to be a hunter, but if he was going to be out there – Sam needed to watch their backs and not shoot at them. The bullet had been only centimeters away from hitting him in the liver and while he was great at putting on a snarky nonaffected façade, he was in pain; They were out of morphine.

The highlight might be that Sam was being _kind_ in his guilt. Since the accident, the fourteen-year-old had become Florence Nightingale. The near-constant battles Sam had fought with John had come to a sudden pause, making the older man suspicious yet grateful for the reprieve. The kid was bringing him his favorite food, drinks, blankets, books, and even girly magazines – all with big eyes that screamed 'I'm sorry'. Caleb knew the moment that he left to return home, Sam's negative attitude about their family's way of life would return.

Stepford-Sam was getting on his last nerve. Dean, he understood; he was protecting his little brother the way that he'd done since Sam was born. But Sam – he wished for something that none of them could give him, a 'normal' life. How the kid anticipated having that kind of life knowing the realities of the supernatural world was mind-bending. Caleb supposed that denial was good for _something_ but only God knew what that was.

Once they got a moment alone, he pinned Sam to talk. "Sam, I get it – alright. You're sorry."

Sam nodded, like a bobblehead, twitching, "I am sorry Caleb. I swear I didn't see –."

"I know, kid. You haven't stopped saying that you're sorry since it happened." Caleb wiped off the sweat at his brow, frustrated. "Now, you know that I am not going to come down on you for making a mistake – but keeping it from your Dad? I don't know, kid; no matter what Dean says, if I made a mistake like that, I'd take responsibility for it." He softened the rebuke towards the end, not wanting it to come out the wrong way, yet needing to instill a level of seriousness.

Shaking his head with hormonal teenage fury, Sam argued back. "I didn't even want to go on the hunt, Caleb! I wanted to finish my paper and study. I know I made a mistake and I've apologized. I've been taking care of you. What else do you want!?"

With deep disappointment, Caleb walked away, hiding the limp as best as he could. "Nothing, Sam. I'm heading to Mac's for a while; I'm tired of this room – no offense, but Mac's place is nicer. Figured I'd take a shot at making you see some sense before I go."

Walking into the 'living area' [if you could call a dirty couch and a TV that survived the 80's that], he spotted John sporting a beer on the couch. "Sam get tired of waiting on you hand and foot?"

Caleb smirked at his mentor, "More like the opposite. Can't handle the fuss – you know that. I'm going to high-tail it out of here and head to Mac's for a bit."

Cocking his head to the side, John asked pointedly, "You feeling up to travel? You were just shot; you _can_ take a few days off. I won't start the training camp just yet."

"Yeah. I'm fine; it was just a flesh wound. Can't lie around here anymore." Caleb assured the older man, putting his best poker face. While the injury wasn't life-threatening, he wasn't bouncing back as quickly as he usually did. He wanted to go home and kick his feet up for a while. Mac's place was comfortable; a place where he could relax.

John looked at him with knowing eyes, "Your plan to lie around Mac's place instead?"

With a laugh, Caleb agreed, "Well, Dad invested in the Posturepedic pillow-top mattresses and a hot tub. Can't blame a son for wanting to catch up with his old man, can you?"

Tongue-in-cheek, John teased, "He'd blame you for cock-blocking him around Esme."

"Seriously," Caleb snarled, "cut it out with that! Mac's not getting with Josh's mom. You're giving me nightmares."

The answering laugh said it all, leaving Caleb to roll his eyes. "Alright. Where's Dean? I want to say 'bye'." He looked around for his best friend and didn't spot him in the small room.

"He went to the coke machine – should be back any minute now."

Sam came out of the bedroom, looking as if Caleb had kicked his puppy. "Caleb, you don't have to go – I'll leave you alone." He went across the room and sat on the other side of the couch next to his father.

"As much as I enjoyed being tended to, it's time to go home. It's not you – I'm getting cabin fever just sitting around here."

Dean walked in, a can of coke in hand as John predicted. He must have caught the end of the conversation, "You're leaving, Damien?"

"Yeah. Figured I'd crash at Mac's for a week before heading back to work; I'll see you at Pastor's Jim's in the summer. Will you give me a ride to the airport, Deuce? Sammy, can you grab my bag?"

With a glare, Sam snarked, "I thought you were sick of me 'waiting on you hand-and-foot'?" Before Caleb could form an equally snarky rebuttal, the kid whipped himself around and marched into the bedroom.

The kid was giving him a headache. Grimacing, he waved a hand at Dean to grab the keys. "I'll wait in the car, Deuce."

-xxxxxx-

Caleb had never been so happy to sit in his life.

The flight had been around 6 hours and with the city traffic from the airport to Mac's place bumper-to-bumper, the trip had been over 8 hours. His bag felt like he was carrying bricks instead of a change of clothing and a grooming kit. New York City was always loud, but the noise was echoing in his head making him feel nauseated.

His father, Dr. Mackland Ames, had opened the door for him – no questions asked. From the moment they met when he was twelve years old, Mac had always opened his door to him when he had every reason to turn him away. If he embraced his dad a bit longer than usual this time, no one would know.

"Are you alright, Caleb? How did the hunt go?" Mac was the first to pull away from the hug, stepping back just far enough to visually examine him. Caleb smiled at his father's perceptiveness. As a teenager, it made him angry at the lack of privacy, but now, it was a comfort that someone understood him to that level.

With a firm pat on his shoulder, Caleb stepped back completely, "I'm good, Mac. It's been a while, I missed you. The hunt was a cakewalk, as usual. It was an elf." He left out the fact that he'd been shot; as they'd all agreed to keep the good doctor from worrying unnecessarily once he was fixed up. John had teased him that Mac would bar him from hunting if he found out, but at his age, he was beyond thinking that his father would hold him back from his future role of Knight. Caleb knew the real reason was to prevent the man from lecturing them all about gun safety – complete with PowerPoints. When he and Pastor Jim got together, their lectures lasted for hours and they blocked all exits to prevent escape. "Thanks for letting me crash here, Dad. I just wanted to get away from all of the testosterone."

Mac cocked his head, grinning, "John giving you a hard time?"

With a huff, Caleb shook his head and immediately regretted it. He rubbed at the back of his neck until the pounding behind his eyes faded, wondering at the bump he found at the base of his skull. Perhaps he hit his head on a rock when he fell. He corrected him, "No, it was Sam. I feel like we're losing the kid. It's like he's living in this daydream that he calls normal, but he doesn't realize that 'normal' doesn't exist."

A warm hand squeezed his forearm before leading him into the living room and guiding him to his favorite recliner. Sinking into the familiar cushions, Caleb couldn't help but groan in pleasure at finally being home. The conversation about Sam didn't require much discussion; both of them had spoken about Sam's surly attitude many times and were on the same page. It was either a phase or something that the Winchester family needed to handle on their own. In the end, Mackland felt it was a normal part of life – wanting to explore life in your way. Mac encouraged higher education in his charges – it was something he and John conflicted about. Though Sam wanted to learn and explore the world on his own, 'normal' was arbitrary and subjective – ultimately unattainable considering the Hunter lifestyle they grew up in. "Headache?"

"Yeah, it was a long flight. Mind if I bum some of the good meds?" Caleb widened his eyes at the Doctor, giving him what Sam would call 'puppy dog eyes' in hopes that it would score him something stronger than Tylenol.

He wasn't shocked when it didn't work. Mac locked up all the narcotic drugs in his medical kit and carried the only key on his body to prevent 'unauthorized use'. Growing up, even the over-the-counter medicines were highly guarded and taken exactly as indicated. When he needed off-the-record pharmaceuticals, he usually reached out to Bobby. "How about a cup of tea and a hot meal instead? You can wash up and then put up your feet for a bit while I cook us a quick meal. You look tired, son."

Caleb struggled to lift himself off the chair; it was as if his body was turning to lead. He turned to see if his father had noticed but was grateful to find the man already ducked into the pantry to pull out ingredients. Shuffling to the bathroom, he peeled off the bandage around his waist, wincing when it tugged on the weeping wound stuck to the fibers, and then managed to wipe himself down without getting the stitches wet. The area was still raw and swollen. He smeared a bit of Neosporin on it, then rewrapped it with a clean dressing. That was enough to warrant taking a break, sitting on the closed toilet seat to catch his breath. He brushed his teeth using the tumbler next to him as a sink to avoid standing. There was nothing that he wanted more than to jump in the shower, but the sudden feeling of dizziness stopped him in his tracks. It would be embarrassing if he passed out in the bathroom.

After a few minutes, he pulled on a soft pair of sweatpants tying them low around his waist to avoid the injury; To avoid the gunshot wound. He didn't bother with socks, not wanting to bend down. The black tank top was loose enough not to pull on or draw attention to the bandage. Caleb wrapped up the old blood-tinged dressings and threw them in his bag instead of the trash bin where Mac would notice.

Dropping his bag off in his old bedroom, he gathered his strength to put on a nonchalant face as he reentered the living room. "Dad, do you need my help with dinner?" The open concept design made it easy to interact with anyone in the kitchen.

Mac smiled, "No, thank you, Caleb. I've gotten used to cooking meals for Es – myself." Caleb caught the blush forming on his father's cheeks, but let the slip go. His father's 'secret' relationship with Esme Madrigal was embarrassing; the man acted like no one discovered they were going out – claiming that they were 'just friends'. Meanwhile, pretty much everyone his father worked with knew that romance was budding. He gave his father a hard time but all he wanted was for the older man to be happy. They suited each other. If it weren't for her baggage, in the form of his rival Joshua Sawyer, she'd be perfect for his father.

"Mind if I watch TV?" Caleb waved the remote control, then sank in his recliner and pulled the handle to elevate his legs. Once he got Mac's permission, he started flipping the channels until he found a show that captured his attention over the last couple of months, Buffy-something. While he would usually not be caught dead watching something geared towards teenaged girls, the hot blonde and the premise was interesting enough to get him to watch it. It was not every day that he was able to watch a show about being a hunter. It was funny and he related to the girl's struggles. He secretly likened the librarian to his father and the stick-in-the-mud heart-throb love interest to John. He couldn't figure out why the chick would even care about this Angel guy; he was boring as hell.

His mind focused on the show, getting sucked in when they revealed that Angel was a vampire. It wasn't that surprising; they'd been setting up the foundation for the 'twist' since the first episode. So, now the show was turning into Romeo & Juliet. He shook his head at the drama. The movement was stiff, so he rubbed the back of his neck trying to work out the knots from his fall while he enjoyed the rest of the episode.

He must have been dozing because he barely noticed his father's whereabouts until Mac placed a tray on his lap. "I can come to the table, Dad." It smelled and looked appetizing; spaghetti, garlic breadsticks, and a side of broccoli. The promised cup of tea was steeping in a mug. Caleb smirked at the stainless-steel infuser. It wasn't difficult to guess that Esme had supplied Mac with her personal blend of loose-leaf teas instead of the old Lipton tea bags his father usually used.

His father was staring at him like a science experiment. "You can stay where you are." The doctor reached down and placed a hand on his elevated ankle. Mac's touch was gentle, but the pressure left an imprint dimpling his skin. The action was repeated on the other ankle, causing the doctor to frown when he felt the heat of the swollen joints. "Caleb, your ankles are swollen. Did you walk around while you were in the cabin?" Mac shifted pressure further up his legs, pulling up the bottom of the elastic sweatpants to see the bottom half of his calves.

Leaning his head back against the recliner, Caleb answered the doctor, "No, since it was last minute, I got stuck in a window seat and couldn't move around while we were in the air. I'm just a bit stiff."

The worried frown didn't leave his face. "Did you eat something salty before your flight?"

"Deuce took me through a drive-through. Had a burger and fries. Fries were salty, of course." Caleb smiled, then shook off his father from prodding his legs once he felt Mac trying to take his pedal pulse.

Mac was good enough to pull down the pant legs, then patted his knee in sympathy. "You do know this means that you're getting old, right?"

That statement made him sit-up taller, shifting the tray to keep the tea from spilling on him. "I'm not old – you're old."

Mac went back into the kitchen for his cup of tea joyfully, enjoying both teasing his son as well as his company. The older man listened while Caleb continued his litany while he carried his drink back to the living room. "And you know what else is old, Dad? That dumb refrigerator. It's so freaking annoying – why don't you get a new one?"

"The refrigerator? What's wrong with it?" Mac asked confused by the correlation. He sat on the couch across from his son and picked up the book he was reading.

"It's buzzing like it's on its last days, Dad. Come on, you can afford one of those new ones with the ice and water dispenser. It'd be worth it."

"The humming that you hear _is_ an ice-maker and it's _not that_ loud, Caleb. It doesn't dispense automatically. Sadly, you do have to bend over and scoop out the ice. It's a hardship – but it will make you a stronger man." Mac said sarcastically. He turned to the television, surprised to see a young woman holding a stake and attacking a man at least a foot taller than her. "What are you watching?"

"It's called Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. It's a new show – I think this is only the seventh episode. She's a hunter in high school. They gave her Spidey-senses and enhanced strength like a superhero though. She has a group of friends that help her find supernatural entities. They remind me of the Brotherhood – or the Scooby Gang." He turned his attention to his father, who lacked a tray. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"No, I ate an early dinner. I'll just enjoy my cup of tea. Eat." Mac nodded towards the tray, then took a sip of the hot drink.

They both sat back to watch the show, finding it entertaining. Caleb knew that his father was hooked when he placed the book down on the side table and kicked his legs up on the couch to relax. Mac rarely watched television. "You're right about it being similar to hunting. Has Jim seen this show? I wonder if the creator is a hunter."

"I don't think so on either front– this is usually when Pastor Jim hosts his Bible studies and I don't think a comic-book nerd like Joss Whedon would never be a hunter. I think Bobby might watch it – of course, he'd never admit it." Caleb laughed.

Mac took another sip of the tea, surreptitiously glancing at his son from time-to-time to make sure he was eating. Once the plate was clean and the cup emptied, he took the tray back into the kitchen. While there, he grabbed Caleb a tall glass of water and a couple of ice packs. He wrapped the packs in a couple of towels, then lay them on his son's swollen ankles. Handing him the glass, he instructed him to drink it all. "It'll help reduce the swelling. Leave the ice packs on for only ten minutes."

"Thanks, Dad. I missed you."

"I missed you too, son. I'm glad you're here."

-xxxxxx-

Mac woke up abruptly once realizing that he'd not only kicked off the blankets but also the pillows off his bed as he'd sweat through the layers. The t-shirt he wore to bed was soaked against his skin and the pajama pants clung in uncomfortable places. He opened his eyes and stared out at the bedside clock. It was only 2:40 am.

The heat-like sauna forced him to get out of bed to check on the thermostat. It was only when he heard sounds coming from the living room that he remembered that his son was visiting him. It sounded like Caleb was still awake. He padded barefoot over to the hallway and huffed in frustration when he saw that the heat was set to 82° Fahrenheit. It was spring-time and he'd turned off the heat to enjoy the fresh air provided by an open window. While it was noisy in the City, he'd grown used to the commotion and could tune it out. He assumed that his son meant to switch on the air conditioner and accidentally turned the heat on instead. With a huff, he turned it to cool at 73.

He flipped on the lights and made his way to where he heard the clamor. Mac froze at the sight of his son, heart pounding with the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He allowed the fear to awaken him completely, then shifted into an emergency medic mindset. With an about-face, he ran into his office to grab his black medical bag and then towards his patient in under thirty seconds. Right now, he couldn't allow the terrified father to take root; he needed to be a doctor.

His twenty-six-year-old son was sitting in front of the lit fireplace, his entire body wrapped up in a thick comforter and shivering so severely it looked as if he were having a mild seizure. Dr. Ames dropped the medical bag within his reach. Kneeling, Mac tilted Caleb's chin up to meet his eyes. "Caleb, look at me."

His order was followed, Caleb blinked at him. His teeth were chattering, and his voice was breathy, "Daaddd, it'sss freezzzing in here."

Relief that Caleb was cognizant took a backburner as he felt both the heat and a swollen submental lymph node under his fingertips. Immediately, he got up to turn off the gas fireplace to minimize the external source of hyperthermia. He was sure his son had a high enough fever without adding to it. When the flames were extinguished, Caleb cried out and wrapped the blanket around him tighter as rigors shook his body uncontrollably. His son was panting, "Pleassse, it's cold."

"It's not cold; the house is 82°, son." Taking out the thermometer from his bag, he wiped it down with alcohol then slipped it under Caleb's tongue. Mac wasn't sure how accurate the reading would be, but it would influence the rest of the exam. When he pulled out the instrument, it read 105.0°. He pulled the comforter away, gentling his son when he whined about the cold once again.

"You were rubbing your neck…" Mac murmured, wrapping his hands around the back of Caleb's skull to feel for lumps or any type of wound then shifted his fingers along the activated lymph node chain. Every node along his head, ears, and neck was swollen. Caleb's heart was pounding in rapid staccato when Mac pressed his fingertips against Caleb's carotid to measure his pulse and his breaths were coming out in gasps. "I've got you, Caleb. Try to slow down your breathing." Caleb usually measured low, even during training, which is common to athletes. Now, it was bounding and tachycardic, thus indicating the severity of whatever was happening.

His stethoscope was put to use, resting the bell against his son's sweat-soaked tank. He didn't like what he was hearing, heart rate, and respiration readings measuring too high as if Caleb were running a marathon. It sounded as if there was fluid in his lungs. "Caleb, can you hold your breath for ten seconds?" He could tell that Caleb was trying but couldn't as pale blue tones tint his skin.

He clipped a pulse ox to his finger and once he saw the reading, he grabbed the phone to dial 911. Demanding an ambulance, the doctor dictated the initial diagnosis and readings. Leaving the handset on speakerphone, he helped his son lie flat on the carpet.

"Were you injured on the hunt?" Not waiting for a response, he continuing the exam, running his hands along the clavicle and both axilla; they were also swollen.

"SSshot." The word was slurred but understandable.

A beat of disbelief was all Mac allowed. "Where?"

Mac gritted his teeth as Caleb lifted his shirt to show him the bandage around his abdomen. The bandage has specks of blood seeping through. "When were you shot? Is the bullet still inside?"

"Nooo." He only answered the second question, eyes closing as he shivered.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital or _**tell me**_ , Caleb?"

Caleb seemed to realize that his father was getting angry. He tried to placate him as best as he could while gasping for breath for air and shivering. "No hospital. Please. Don't tell. Don't tell. Please."

Mac couldn't respond in his rage; Instead, he called out the additional critical pieces of data the EMTs would need upon their arrival through the phone as he listened to his son beg him 'not to tell', fever starting to affect his acuity. He forced himself to maintain his calm, running his hands down past Caleb's abdomen to his swollen reddened ankles to determine the extent of the infection.

It was systemic.

"I'm going to put in an IV in your hand, run some fluids, and start you on an antibiotic." While he would much prefer having laboratory tests regarding the type of microbe currently poisoning his son, every _minute_ that was delayed in giving him life-saving medication would affect the outcome; every hour of delay increased the risk of death by 7%. It had already been hours since the first symptoms appeared to his knowledge. He inserted the IV with some difficulty, then fully opened the drip, allowing it to flow through as quickly as gravity and the lack of a pump would allow. Taking down one of the photos of the boys hanging near the fireplace, Mac used the nail to hang the bag.

He was injecting the two-drug antibiotic cocktail into the port when he heard the EMT team arrive at the door. The drugs were prescribed as the most commonly recommended for sepsis from an abdominal source and he prayed that his educated guess was correct. He dropped the used syringes at the bell, then ran to the door to allow the two-person team inside to lead them to where his son was lying.

"Looks like you started without us," the more senior EMT remarked, leaning over to start his assessment. "Doctor?"

"Dr. Ames. This is my son Caleb. He's twenty-six and presenting with symptoms of second-stage septicemia. We need to get him transported to the hospital immediately. I'm going to need to stay with him to keep him calm; Caleb has a history of combative behavior around unknown medical and law enforcement professionals. If you have an IV pump, attach it and push another bag of saline wide open. I've injected the initial doses of IV antibiotics a minute before you walked in: 1g Cefepime and 500 mg Metronidazole. If you have Gentamicin in your bag, inject 500mg in the port. He arrived at my home around 7:00 pm via airplane. Initially, he presented with a headache, tinnitus, muscle aches, lymph involvement, and lower extremity edema. I was unaware that he'd been shot in the upper abdomen that I _estimate_ to be about 2 days ago in a hunting accident. I am assuming that the bullet was removed in a non-sterile environment. By 2:40 am, symptoms had rapidly escalated to include chills, temp of 105°, SOB, oxygen saturation at 90%, tachycardia, probable pneumonia, and systemic lymph activity. He's able to answer questions but is confused."

"Fits the SIRS criteria for severe sepsis. I need to retake vitals before we move him, sorry Doc. Protocol. You might also want to grab a change of clothing before we head out. You're in pajamas. Don't forget his insurance card and ID, Doc, plus any medical records."

The EMT called out the vitals to his partner, who documented the measurements. "Temp 104.5°, HR 120, BP 100/70, respiration erratic. 2 days post-penetrating abdominal wound. We'll leave the wound covered. It's best to get him in a sterile room." Once the required vitals were taken, the team worked quickly to slide Caleb onto a stretcher, concurring with the Doctor that time was of the essence. They cut off Caleb's shirt, then stuck on electrodes to hook him up to the portable EKG machine attached to the transport. "Get an intubation kit prepped! We'll be on route in 2 minutes; ETA 8 minutes to Presbyterian Hospital."

"No hospital. No. No. Please. No hospital," Caleb muttered, trying to get up out of the stretcher. Dr. Ames grimaced when the team wrapped the restraints around his son, knowing full-well that Caleb would start to fight them as he'd warned them on their arrival. The EMTs tried to comfort him, but it was no use. They were all busy trying to save his life than continue to offer the young man nonsensical platitudes. Mac was Caleb's medical power of attorney and overrode his son's wishes, running his hand through his son's hair in comfort. He pulled away to grab the necessities as was reminded.

While the EMT team was getting his son prepared for the ride to the hospital, Mac ran into his bedroom to throw on the nearest outfit and shoes, uncaring if it was clean. Once he got dressed, Mac went into his son's room to grab the backpack, cell phone, wallet, and keys from the desk. He opened the zipper of the backpack to plant the phone, wallet, and keys inside for easier transport, then paused when he spotted the used bandages that Caleb had kept hidden from him tucked away in between the dirty clothes. "Fuck." He swore angrily, making his way back rapidly to his ill son's side. "Let's go."

-xxxxxx-

The eight-minute ride to the hospital was arduous. Caleb tried to fight off the EMTs, pulling at the restraints and screaming profanities that Mac imagined his son learned from his mentor for _he_ certainly didn't teach him that type of language. Mac sat at his head, cupping his hands around Caleb's skull and whispering soothing sounds. The doctor tried to keep his son's agitation from affecting him, but it was difficult. He was hard-wired into protecting his boy, and now, he needed to protect him from his fears. "You're safe, Caleb. I'm here. Shhhh. Just focus on me, son."

Caleb fluctuated his grievances from 'too cold' to 'let me go' and Mac's personal favorite 'don't tell them'. At this point, the doctor assumed 'them' included Winchester and Singer, if not encompassing his charges. His son was deliriously begging him not to call the hunters that put him in critical condition.

Dr. Ames became furious each time he heard the cry. Every fiber of his being wanted to call his so-called 'Brothers' and vent his wrath. How dare they? How _dare they_ deny his son proper medical care? Ultimately, how _dare any of them_ keep the report from him? It was his duty as both the Scholar and a Doctor that all hunts were reported accurately to him. Not only had they left him unprepared for the fall-out, but by keeping critical information from him – he had misdiagnosed a life-threatening infection as flight-related. There was a part of him that was willing to risk his medical license in violating the HIPPA privacy laws to tear them apart, but the logical part of his brain overrode the irrational thoughts. Medical licensed be damned, but he couldn't risk Caleb losing confidence in him. His son was looking at a long road to recovery (he was unwilling to consider any other result) and they would need to trust each other for Caleb to regain his independence.

Pulling up to the Emergency Room, Mac forced the weighing nightmare of Caleb keeping secrets from him out of his mind space. No one had time to deal with his parenting meltdown. Immediately, they were whisked away to a private trauma room where two nurses descended on them. The EMTs reported the latest vitals to the team, then once Caleb was transferred to a bed – left to transport their next patient.

One of the nurses pointed the frightened father to a chair located in the corner of the room after taking her patient's name, date of birth, social security, and insurance information from him, unknowing of his status within the medical community. He allowed it, letting the nurse speak softly to his son. "Caleb, my name is Amanda. I'm one of the nurses who's taking care of you. Do you know where you are?"

Caleb shivering had intensified during the trip, but he looked at the nurse and yelled the correct answer. "Hospital!" He looked around the room, panting, the alarms picking up his distress. Amanda patted his hand, trying to calm him. "Let me go! Leave me alone."

The other nurse, Emily, radioed their "Code Sepsis" alert to the Emergency Room once their readings matched the report given upon arrival. Within seconds, the room was filled with additional medical personnel.

A harried-looking doctor walked in introducing herself to her patient, as she scanned through his vital signs. "Hello, Caleb. I'm Doctor Shah. I understand that you aren't a fan of hospitals, but we're here to help you." When the subsequent reaction to her kindness was her patient swearing at her, she nodded to Mac and gave him a stifled smile in greeting. "I assume you're Caleb's father?"

Standing up tall, he held out his hand to her, "Dr. Mackland Ames. And yes, I'm Caleb's father _and_ his medical proxy."

Recognition sparked in Dr. Shah's eyes, full of respect, she asked, "It's good to meet you, Dr. Ames. I wish it were in different circumstances. We'll do everything that we can to take care of your son. What can you tell me about what happened?"

It was with a sense of embarrassment that Mac created the narrative that he was able to piece together from the clues his son left. "He was hunting in the Ozarks with a group of his friends. From what I was able to ascertain, he was shot two days ago, and his friends took it upon themselves to play doctor in a motel room to avoid a trip to the hospital. He landed at JFK around 5 pm last night and started to develop symptoms of an infection soon after. He kept the gunshot wound a secret from me and changed out his bandages, so I was unable to accurately diagnose him until he collapsed. As you can see, my son has a severe phobia of hospitals. He's been known to become aggressive when he's frightened, so it is in all our best interests if I stay at his side to reassure him that he's safe." Dr. Ames continued the history, adding, "Caleb's surgical history includes an acute traumatic abdominal repair ten years ago."

"Appendix?" Dr. Shah guessed one of the most common surgical procedures. She worked as she spoke, taking vital signs and communicating her actions to her agitated patient.

Mac rubbed at his eyes, pained, "No. He was eviscerated by a cult leader and left to bleed out when he was fifteen-years-old. We nearly lost him then." [ _Reference: "Crossing the Line" by Sensue and "The Line" By Ridley C. James_ ] With a grimace, he continued to try and spin a good excuse, "My son lives an adventurous life. He's an adrenaline junkie who enjoys worrying his father."

The woman blinked at him, unable to form an appropriate response to that bit of knowledge. She stared at his son with new eyes, "I'll order bloodwork to determine the bacterial source and start him on a round of IV antibiotics. I also am going to order a CT scan and MRI. Once we get back the results, we'll most likely need to send him to surgery for an emergency exploratory laparotomy. I assume they'll need to insert a shunt, but we'll see."

"I started him on a round of Cefepime and Metronidazole about 20 minutes ago before the ambulance arrived."

Nodding, Dr. Shah approved his quick action then went to the computer to document the dosages in the system upon clarification. "That's good – as you know, the quicker antibiotics are administered, the better the outcome. Did you include Gentamicin?"

"No, I didn't have it in my emergency bag and neither did the EMTs." Doubt filled his voice, "I wasn't able to run a screen on his bloodwork, so I guessed at the drug combination."

Dr. Shah placed a hand on his arm, "Not used to guessing in neurosurgery? You did the right thing, Dr. Ames. If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing. Your son is in critical condition – you do what you need to. We'll run the gram stains and hope that your best guess was right. There are many other antibiotics that we can try if it's not… Now, let's take care of your kid."

With that, she turned back to her patient to repeat the same physical exam that Mac had performed at home. Caleb fought hard to prevent the stranger in a doctor's coat from touching him nearly snapping her wrist before she yanked herself away. Mac stepped up to hold his arms down, speaking to him softly, telling him childhood stories until his vital signs showed the lessening panic. Dr. Shah watched as the young man relaxed at his father's touch, rubbing at what would become a large bruise on her wrist. "Dr. Ames. Due to Caleb's shortness of breath and current vitals, I'm hesitant to sedate him or have security hold him down to examine him. Did _you_ perform a physical exam? Until we can stabilize him, I'll accept your report and enter it into the medical record."

"Yes, I did. I thank you for your understanding. I'm sorry that he hurt you; he would be horrified... I found systemic lymph node activation, swollen lower extremities, fever, rigors, shortness of breath, tinnitus, and a slightly enlarged spleen. Lungs sounded wet – possible pneumonia. I did not remove the dressing of the wound but assume that it's infected internally. It was hot to the touch. None of us wanted to expose it to the air in a non-sterile environment. Caleb had been sitting in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a thick comforter, and the heat in my apartment was set to 82°. His temperature when I took it was 105°. In the ambulance, they measured 104.5°."

Dr. Shah thanked him for the report, "we'll need an accurate core temperature. I'll send in a nurse with a rectal thermometer if you can calm him long enough for us to _safely_ take a reading?" She put in the order for both the temperature reading and Gentamicin to be injected via IV before surgery to introduce another common drug to treat sepsis.

Mac nodded, sitting back down in the chair in the corner once she turned to leave the trauma room. She was by the door when she called out, "I'll send in the med techs to take blood samples. We'll need cultures. Radiology technologists have been scheduled. After the results are in, we'll send him to surgery, then admit him to the ICU. If you need anything, you know where the call button is."

Caleb immediately noticed the quiet after she left, calling out, "Dad? Dad? Ddd leave meee?"

Moving his chair bedside, Mac returned his hand to stroke through Caleb's sweat-soaked hair. "I'm right here, son. I'm not leaving you. You're safe." He wasn't sure how long he continued the litany that night but repeated it until Caleb no longer worried that he was alone in the place he feared most.

Ten hours later, two near-full body radiology scans, a pint of blood, and an emergency surgery later, Caleb was moved to a private room in the intensive care unit. He was sleeping off the effects of the anesthetic. The doctors had put him on a ventilator to help him breathe and he was doped up on anesthetic from the surgery. The antibiotic combination drugs had been changed to offer the best broad-spectrum coverage against the specific organism poisoning his son.

Mac sat in the guest recliner by the bed, flashing back ten years to the same horrific experience. Caleb was attached to IV lines, EKG monitors, oxygen lines, had a shunt in his abdomen draining the infection, catheter, and leg compression cuffs – leaving not a single area on his body without an attachment to a life-saving medical device. That to say, Caleb wasn't out of the woods; he was in the ICU and would be likely to stay there until his blood cleared from the infection. They would need to readjust the mediations several more times until that happened to find the best combination to combat the antibiotic resistance of the bacteria.

Back then, he had a support system to help him handle the terror of nearly losing his son from his family: Cullen, Bobby, Jim, and even Harland Sawyer waited with bated breath for news of his survival. Unlike the earlier experience, this time he was alone.

Purposefully, Mackland ignored his cell phone ringing the familiar ring tones for Winchester as well as Singer. Caleb's phone chimed unread text messaging from his best friend as well as the Knight. Mac stared at the phone, debating whether he could call Dean to tell him that Caleb was deathly ill in the event that he needed to say goodbye – but decided against it after remembering Caleb's cries not to tell. He picked up when Jim called him not even ten minutes later, unable to ignore the one friend who helped him every time he asked and all the times that he didn't.

"Mackland?" Pastor Jim's kind voice sounded relieved at reaching him. "Is Caleb with you? He didn't check in with John upon his arrival."

Mac put his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes. "He's with me, Jim." He was quiet for a long time, Jim waiting for him to continue. "I have to go." With that, he hung up.

Staring at his phone, he dialed his assistant, Naomi. "Naomi, I need you to cancel my schedule for the time being. I anticipate at least twelve weeks, if not longer. If you can, please send a fax over the FMLA paperwork to the ICU at NY Presbyterian and I'll submit it to the hospital's HR department today."

"Dr. Ames, are you alright?" Naomi asked hesitantly. "Is it your father?"

Mac felt his eyes sting with unshed tears, the lump in his throat making him sound gruffer. "No, my father is well. It's Caleb. That's all I can say… if you receive any phone calls asking about my family, I expect you'll respect our privacy? Caleb doesn't want anyone to know. As for hunting or any requests for FBI assistance, please offer my regret and tell them I'm indisposed."

"Of course, Dr. Ames. Is there anything that I can help with? Do you need me to drop off anything to you at the hospital?"

Sitting in the quiet ICU room, Mac could foresee himself needing something to keep his mind occupied. "If you could bring me a change of clothing and my grooming kit, it would be kind of you. Perhaps a few books or the journals on top of my desk?"

Naomi immediately agreed, looking at her boss's day-planner to spot anything that would require a personal touch. "Sir, you also had a dinner planned tonight with Ms. Madrigal… would you like me to reach out to her and cancel?"

Mac breathed, "I forgot… No, I'll reach out to her and cancel. Thank you for reminding me, Naomi."

With a few final words of comfort and offerings of prayers, Naomi hung up the phone.

Esme Madrigal was becoming a good friend to him. Her positivity and lightness as well as her strength were inspirational. She was smart and fun. Esme brought out a part of him that he hadn't even realized he had, making him feel like he was a teenager again. He'd planned the dinner in attempts to deepen their connection; he had wanted to become a suitor instead of merely a friend. They had known each other for longer than he'd had Caleb – meeting her at a time where she needed assistance. They both had felt the spark of interest then but squashed it while they both got their messy lives in order. Esme had been focused on making sure her son was healthy and happy, while Mackland was getting used to the world of the supernatural. There had also been a moral dilemma for him, as he had been treating her as a physician – even if it was only once. After Caleb became a part of his life, he decided that his priority was his son.

Now, enough time had passed to where both of their sons were grown. Esme was settled into her business as an executive. She had enough time to experience other romantic relationships outside of her toxic one with her ex-husband Harland Sawyer to discover not all men would treat her as Harland had. It made her more confident in herself. She stopped the inadvertent comparisons to her ex when she looked at him now, finally seeing him for who he was. The faint look of fear that sparked in her eyes when Mac interacted with her son, Joshua was gone. Their friendship was blossoming, and Mac wanted nothing more than to start a new chapter with her, but the time was never right.

He thought that perhaps _this time_ , they could make it work. Staring at his pale son shivering in the hospital bed, Mac knew that the moment had passed. How could he go on a date when his son needed him? It was out of the question. The only question remaining was if she were willing to wait, decide to remain friends until things were back to 'normal'. Less than a day ago, Caleb had been complaining about Sam's quest for normal and how it was impossible to find. Now, Mackland agreed. Nothing was ever normal in their lives and he doubted that it would ever be.

Dialing Esme's cell phone, he struggled to keep his voice from breaking when she finally picked up. "Esme, it's Mackland."

Her voice was silvery and filled with joy upon his call. "Couldn't wait to speak to me tonight? I suppose you're as excited as I am."

Regretfully, he knew what he was going to say was going to hurt her, but couldn't think of any way around it. "Esme, I'm sorry. We're going to need to cancel."

"Oh?" Esme sounded disappointed, but as always tended to quickly rally her spirits. Playfully, she asked, "It's a bit disappointing, but you can make it up to me, I suppose. Should we reschedule for tomorrow night?"

Swallowing to keep from crying, he spoke gravely, "No, we won't be able to reschedule for quite a while, Esme. I'm sorry to have to do this – but, I'm not going to be able to start anything serious. It'd be best if we both moved on."

"Mackland? Did something happen? This isn't like you. What's wrong?" She was soft and gentle in her questioning, quick to pick up on the hurt in his tone. The fact that he was breaking up with her on the phone seemed to be a symptom, but not the root cause of his pain.

Leaning down to stare at the cheap gray vinyl of the hospital room listening to the rapid beeping that was his son's heart, Mac couldn't help the tears that slipped free. "I can't," he cried. "I'm sorry, Esme. I can't right now." His voice was brittle and breathy trying to keep the sob from escaping.

"Mackland, where are you? Please tell me where you are." Esme begged, heart-in-throat. "You are always there for me when I need you. Let me help. Let me be your friend."

In the end, her kindness was what broke him down. He cried as he spoke. "NY Presbyterian. ICU Room 17. My son…" Mac couldn't finish the sentence and bless her, she seemed to understand the agony he was in.

"I'll be right as soon as I can. You just – hold on."

-xxxxxx-

The nurses attending his son were good to him. They gently tended to his body, speaking to him as if he were awake as they rechecked the central line, pumps, drainage, and swapped out the fluid bags for new ones. "He should be awake soon, Dr. Ames. Press the call button if it's before our next round. Do you need anything? Can we bring you something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine." Mac weakly returned their smiles, tired after his emotional break-down.

"Dr. Ames, you should take a break. Go for a walk or to the cafeteria for something to eat. You need to keep up your strength."

"It's alright. I don't want to leave him." Mac explained.

The nurses looked at each other in silent exchange, empathetic. "I'm going to bring you a cup of yogurt, some apple juice, and a turkey sandwich. If you don't eat it, we'll issue visiting hours."

The threat was delivered unconvincingly, but Mac understood that it was issued out of concern, so he conceded the terms. By the time the meal was devoured in unrecognized hunger, the two caring women in his life knocked on the window of Caleb's room. He could see them consulting the nurses, who held up a pointer finger to the ladies. Mac could see them debate who would come in first, and Naomi won.

Carrying in a large duffle bag, a small stack of books, and tinfoil wrapped casserole dish, Naomi placed the items on the food tray before hugging her boss tightly. "Is he doing alright?" Naomi let go and stepped back to look at the young man she watched grow up in front of her. She ran a hand down Caleb's cheek, avoiding the tubes, and pulling back when she felt the hot wetness on her fingertips. "He's burning up and trembling… what?"

"Second-stage sepsis." Mac shared the bad news. "He has a fever. He's on strong combination antibiotics… now, it's a waiting game."

Naomi nodded, "I brought you your favorite macaroni noodle casserole; I thought you might be hungry. Is there anything else that you or Caleb need?"

"Thank you, Naomi. There's not much I need right now, other than my son to get better."

Gesturing towards the woman waiting outside, Naomi offered, "I can sit with Caleb if you would like to go for a walk with Esme. I promise I call you on your cell phone if there are any changes. We would both stay, but they said that only one person at a time visiting in the ICU to keep the risk of additional microbes low. They were kind enough to give each of us five minutes since we came all this way." When there was no response, she continued, "it might be good to stretch your legs, Dr. Ames. It's a nice day outside, you could get some fresh air…"

Reaching out her hand to him, Naomi pulled him to his feet and with a hand at his back, pushed him towards his friend waiting by the door. She settled into the now-abandoned seat and watched through the window as her long-time boss allowed himself to be held by his girlfriend.

-xxxxxx-

Caleb woke to the sounds of beeping, scents of disinfectants, taste of metal, feeling of cold, and his father's worried smile. His throat was killing him. Mac was petting his bristled cheek. "Almost done, Caleb. Just another few seconds."

Frowning, Caleb tried to understand what Mac was talking about when he sensed someone at his back, touching him. Jerking, he attempted to pull away to knock the hand away but was caught before he could strike out. "She's done."

"It's 103.9°, Dr. Ames. Still very high, but a good sign that it's decreasing. We'll keep a close eye on his temperature and white cell count. Do you need my help to get him to turn him on his back?"

"No, thank you, Amy. If you could do me a favor?" When the young nurse nodded, Mac asked, "Could you bring us the antiseptic bed bath, toothbrush, and shaving kits? I'll help him clean-up, so you can go about your rounds. I think Caleb would be more comfortable…"

"Dad? Cold…" Caleb whined, feeling the air conditioner against the skin of his exposed back. "What?"

Mac sat on his heels crouching in front of the bed. "Do you know where you are, Caleb?"

Blinking rapidly against the light streaming in from the window he was facing, he was able to piece together what his senses were telling him. "Hospital? Why?"

His father seemed to be struggling for words, which never happened before. Caleb reached out his hand, but his coordination was shot. Instead, he ended up pulling at the IV line that was in his hand and batting Mac in the face. Mac grabbed hold of his flailing hand and lightly squeezed his fingers, avoiding the catheter at the top of his hand. "I woke up to find you with a fever of 105° and suffering from sepsis, son. There was a small nick in your bowel from the gunshot that is infecting your bloodstream. Once we got you to the hospital, you were taken to surgery – they were able to repair the damage and insert a shunt to drain the infection. You have pneumonia from fluid pooling in your lungs. They had you on a ventilator, so your throat may be sore for a few days."

Caleb finally realized that he was lying on his side, leg slightly bent to his chest in what he knew as the recovery position. Looking down, he now noticed the tubes attached to his body. There was a strange sense of déjà vu and for a moment he thought he had traveled through time. "'gain?" He tried to reach down to feel the wound, but his fingers were still gripped preventing him from touching the bandage.

"No, it's not the same – though it might feel that way. You're in the ICU."

Amy got back, placing the requested kits on the counter near the monitors. "Is he aware?"

Mac nodded, "yes, he is now."

Amy came to stand over Dr. Ames's shoulder bending slightly to meet Caleb's eyes. "Hello. My name is Amy. I'm one of the nurses taking care of you for today. Are you in pain, Caleb?"

"Hurts – yeah." He gasped out as if hearing the word brought it forth.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 at the worst, how bad does it hurt?"

"Ssseeven," his teeth started chattering again. "ss cccoldd."

"Dr. Evelyn said that we could increase the dosage of morphine if he needed it, but we need to be careful that it doesn't affect his respiration. I'll adjust the pump to a half dose for now and monitor him." She spoke to Dr. Ames when he looked at her. "Caleb, I'll give you the pain medicine through your IV. I'm going to step out, but if you need anything, you can press the button on the railing, okay?" She waited until he nodded. "Is it okay if your father helps you get cleaned up?"

"Yeah." He was able to grunt out, still shivering.

"Thank you, Amy," Mac stated, waiting for her to leave the room before gathering up the supplies and moving them to the food tray so that they were within reach. "I thought you might appreciate getting a bed bath to wipe the sweat off. I can help you shave if you'd like, you're starting to get straggly."

Things were cloudy and confusing, but his dad had never hurt him, so he didn't shield himself from his warm touches. "Usually, I'd start with your hair, but since you're on your side, I'll wash your back, then help you get comfortable."

Slipping on a pair of sterile gloves, Mac opened the individual cleansing wipe. They were engineered specifically to prevent the transmission of microbes in an immunocompromised patient. You were to use a new wipe on every area of the body and switch out gloves in between as an additional precaution. Starting at his neck, Mac used firm motions to both cleanse and soothe his trembling son, like a massage. The monitors detected the relaxation in the form of a slight drop in heart rate and respiration from red to orange zones.

Once he was done cleaning the back of Caleb's body, he switched out the gloves and helped him lay in a supine position making sure none of the tubes tangled nor pulled out. The motion made Caleb's face pale and his eyes close. The monitors spiked back up to red.

There was a squeeze on his upper arm that Caleb knew was a blood pressure cuff tightening. Mac moved towards the head of his bed, fingers tangled up in his short hair. "Shhh. I've got you, son. Don't be afraid."

Waiting until his son relaxed again, Mac washed his hair with waterless dry shampoo, letting the foam absorb the oil and sweat. He continued down his arms, chest, torso, and legs until he'd reached his toes. "Do you want me to try and shave your beard? You'll have to hold still for me."

"'k." Caleb shut his eyes, unable to stay awake and trusting his father would take care of him.

-xxxxxx-

The next few days had seen marked improvements, with the antibiotic seemingly winning the battle against the raging infection. Caleb's fever had dropped to 101° and while the reading was still considered high, the chills that he had suffered finally subsided. The shortness of breath and weakness continued leaving him feeling like a wet noodle. Everything hurt, from his scalp to his ankles. His legs were wrapped in knee-high tights that prevented a DVT from being immobile.

The other issue was the sheer boredom when he was awake. He tried to read one of the books piled on the counter, but the book seemed to weigh a ton in his hand, only able to hold it up for a few minutes. Even if he could hold it up, his eyes seemed unable to focus on the small type. His only recourse was watching television and there were only so many soap operas he could watch before he started getting antsy.

Mac always knew when he was getting agitated and tried to distract him. He could count on one hand the number of times his father left the room; most of them to talk to the endless slew of medical personnel that was treating him or to relieve himself. Caleb would listen to his father speak to him, unable to keep the conversation going for long due to the breathlessness.

"Would you like me to call anyone to come to visit you, Caleb? Your grandfather, perhaps?" Mac asked him during one of the quiet times in which he wasn't being poked and prodded.

"No. I don't want to see anyone right now. I look like shit, it'd hurt my rep." Caleb joked weakly. He inhaled deeply, but couldn't seem to fill his lungs. His chest was tight. He put his head back against the pillow, trying to catch his breath.

His dad stood up from his chair and leaned over the bed, placing a gentle hand on his chest. "Are you in pain, son? Your vitals are rising."

"Dad… something's wrong", Caleb arched his back off the bed, wincing as it pulled his incision. He panted, but it felt like he was in a room without oxygen.

Mac reacted quickly, pushing the red button on the monitor that called a code blue. The entire area sounded like a fire-alarm, with a computerized voice repeating "code blue room 17." His father didn't bother waiting for the team to appear, grabbing hold of the oxygen mask hanging on the wall and placing it over his mouth and nose.

Within moments, the room was swarmed, and his head swam, not knowing what was happening anymore. He heard nurses, doctors, assistants, and his dad talking urgently about him. He was rolled onto his side and a solid board was placed behind him before he was rearranged on his back. The quick movement made him dizzy and the room started going dark.

"He's cyanotic. We need a portable chest x-ray."

"Could be a clot in his lungs... He had pitting edema in his legs upon admission with negative ultrasound. Repeat ultrasound and run a d-dimer test."

"Push 50 mg alteplase IV and heparin."

"Tachy 140. BP is dropping."

"Check the central line."

"Make sure you keep a sterile field – he's septic."

"Open the bore – he needs fluids."

"Get a vent kit at the ready."

"Should we call Dr. Kelly? Prep for surgery?"

"Monitor his oxygen saturation, if it drops below 80, intubate him."

"OR at the ready."

The commotion was overwhelming. "Daadd" he breathed; not sure if Mac could even hear him under the mask. He held out the hand closest to the last place he saw his father. In the next blink, Mac's warm hand carefully wrapped around his, avoiding the IV line. "Wanna go home now," Caleb whispered.

Mac met his eyes, "You're going to be okay, Caleb. We'll go home soon." Studying both his son and the monitors, Mac gave the team in the room a command. "Let's wait – his O2 stats just went up by a percentage after the thrombolytics."

"Ames – why don't you step out of the room? I'm in charge here." The attending physician arrogantly snapped back.

Gritting his teeth, Mac fought to keep his temper when Caleb's heart rate rose to 150 bpm, and his eyes widened in what Mac recognized as fight or flight mode. Caleb was struggling to try to sit up and Mac pressed him down with a firm hand to keep him in place. "That's not going to happen. Can you and your team step back please?"

"Absolutely not! I want you out of this room. You're interfering with my treatment plan." The man yelled.

"Dr. Bishop – while I appreciate the urgency of the situation, your observational skills are lacking. Which considering your choice of profession, is risky to both your career and your patients' lives."

"He spoke, Dr. Bishop. He's breathing and pinking up." One of the nurses noted. "Heart rate is still rising."

Dr. Ames glared at the attending, "it's rising because you're shouting. If you'd look at his medical records, you would know that Caleb has documented tomophobia and merinthophobia. If you and your team could step back, we would all be better able to judge if the thrombolytic treatment you prescribed is working before sending him into a possibly unnecessary surgical intervention. I concur that you should run repeat bloodwork, BP check, arterial blood gas, and pulse ox."

Dr. Bishop's face turned red, "how arrogant you are! You act high and mighty, but it was your misdiagnosis that resulted in his current prognosis."

The words cut Ames down to the quick, leaving him stunned and silent. He felt his attacker step closer and his abilities sparked to life – pinning the man against the wall with nothing but a thought. When he spoke, it was cold and serious. "Dr. Bishop, I need you to leave this room. You are no longer to provide care for my son."

Fear flooded the room, everyone staring at Ames as he had suddenly turned into a monster. With a lift of his chin, he dropped the asshole to the ground, then telekinetically shoved him out of the ICU room.

"Oh my God – it's true." One of the nurses gasped in horror, before grabbing hold of her co-worker to run out the door.

For a few minutes, all he could hear was the struggling breaths of his frightened son. "Dr. Ames?" Mac turned his head to face the two people who had remained in the room: the physician's assistant and a nurse. "May I approach to pull some blood?" The question was asked professionally by the young nurse.

Nodding, the Doctor allowed them to come closer. He ran a hand through Caleb's hair, trying to calm down. The nurse went over to Caleb's IV pole and clamped it down to prepare to pull blood from the line in his hand. She spoke softly, not wanting to face his fury, "I'll pull what I can from the line, but the d-dimer will need to be taken from a direct stick."

The male PA walked up behind him, gripping him by the elbow. The man managed to maneuver himself in front of him before he understood what was happening, cutting him off from reaching for his son. With a forward step, he forced Mac back where he fell into the chair beside the bed when the edge pressed against his knees; from there, he pushed the chair back so that Ames was in a reclining position. "What are you doing?"

With both hands held up, the PA spoke, "My name is Raymond Hernandez. I'm not going to hurt you, Dr. Ames. I just want to take your vital signs. You're shaking and pale."

Before he could answer, there was a stethoscope pressed against his chest. With the chair acting as a soundboard, Mac now could feel his racing heart as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. "Jane? Can you hand me a blood pressure cuff, please?"

Mac tried to shake Hernandez off but was unsuccessful. "Focus on Caleb! I'm fine."

Jane and Raymond exchanged a look, Jane huffing as she tossed him the requested cuff. She smirked at Mac, "You _would have_ been fine if you ate, drank, and slept. The nurses have placed bets on when you'd fall over. Looks like my timeline was just a bit off – I think Amy won." She turned towards her coworker, "Though I think that's cheating because she's the day nurse for this room – she has the inside scoop. What do you think, Ray?"

"I think Amy won fair and square. The rest of us underestimated Dr. Ames, so we deserve to pay up." Ray spoke playfully, trying to lighten up the mood of the room as he took Mac's blood pressure. "Doc, you're stronger than we thought – in every sense of the word. BP is high, so is your heart rate. Is that normal for you? I mean, when you throw people across the room with the power of your mind?"

Mac laughed, a bit hysterically, "No, but calling a code blue on my son could be a cause. How's Caleb, Jane?"

Caleb turned his head to face his father, pulling the oxygen mask off his face, "I think I look better than you do at the moment, Dad." His words were muffled and slightly breathless, but much improved.

Jane gently took his hand away from the mask and repositioned it properly back in place. "I will say, I don't think I've ever seen thrombolytics work that quickly before. I'm glad you're feeling better, Caleb."

"Caleb was in peak physical condition prior to the infection. You're probably used to seeing the delayed effect in people with preexisting conditions or the elderly." Mac explained. "I'm sorry if I scared you – I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Ray smiled, then moved towards Caleb's bed. "Are you kidding, Doc? That was the highlight of my week. I wish I could have recorded that on video so I could watch it on repeat." Still laughing, he slipped the earbuds back in so he could take a listen to Caleb's heart.

"Kid, your father is a badass." Ray joked with his patient once he confirmed that the young man had stabilized to where he had been before the code. "Jane, call the 'all clear' please. Caleb, we need to rerun a few tests to make sure that there aren't any other complications to keep an eye out for. Looks like the clot-buster is working though – so you'll skip the trip to the OR for now. We'll send up a rad tech to take you to ultrasound. What do you think about helping us convince your dad to go home for a hot meal and some sleep?"

The monitors beeping in alarm mode was the first clue that Ray had overstepped – vitals showing clear indications of fear at the thought of being left alone in the hospital. "No," Caleb gasped.

Mac shifted until he was sitting up, then leaned over so that he could take his son's hand again. "Ray didn't mean to upset you. I'm not leaving nor planning to go home until you're discharged, son. You know I always keep my promises. Remember Master Chen's first lesson?" He waited until Caleb nodded, "Why don't we _both_ center ourselves and calm down."

"I'm sorry, Dad. Are you still angry?"

He didn't answer, knowing that it wasn't the time nor the place to speak honestly about his feelings on the matter. Knowing this situation could have been avoided was tough. His son was an adult. Throughout the years, Mac taught Caleb about field medicine, as he had first taught Joshua and currently teaching Dean. All of the young men in his charge were taught better. This was a mistake that shouldn't have happened, and it did make him angry at the lack of good judgment.

"Caleb," Jane started, "they're ready to take you to ultrasound now. They are going to make sure you don't have any clots forming in your legs and double-check your lungs. Dr. Ames can walk you to the room, but he'll need to wait outside until they are done. It's an itty-bitty room big enough for a bed and the equipment."

With that, Jane unlocked the bed, unhooked the main monitor, and attached the mobile unit to the headboard. "And we're off." She pushed the bed through the hall, followed by the worried father.

Caleb closed his eyes after the fluorescent bulbs irritated him in intervals down the hallway. He knew that his father was angry – Mac had never used his abilities to pin a human outside of John before. He owed his father an apology for what he was putting him through.

Finally, they'd reached their destination and it was indeed a closet that they had converted to fit the ultrasound cart and a bed. It was only large enough for her stool and her to walk around the bed. Mac patted his shoulder, then waited outside of the door. The tech helped arrange the bed in a way that she could reach and shut the door to give them some privacy. She was nice as she explained that she was going to probe his legs. If he wasn't feeling like death, he'd make an inappropriate alien joke.

The actual probing didn't hurt and just felt a little gooey. The probe shifted up to his legs to his groin area, where it became awkward and nearly embarrassing. Thankfully, little Caleb was still covered and too tired to play. The tech covered his legs, then told him that the doctor had also ordered her to scan his chest to scan for clots in his lungs after the medication. When she pressed the wand against his ribs it was uncomfortable and painful. His very bones ached.

Mac waited outside the door, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He hadn't slept – uncomfortable in the old recliner in the ICU, listening to the monitors alerting the staff regarding a tachycardic heart rate. His son would wake from night terrors, as if he were a child again, his heart pounding and gasping for breath in fear. Mac spent an hour a night calming Caleb until he could fall back to sleep. In the end, sleep was lost in gentling his son at the first signs of distress. It was an acceptable sacrifice.

There was a slight headache forming behind his eyes from the stress and lack of nourishment. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes until the door reopened and Caleb could return to his room. Mac imagined that the hospital director would soon hear about his reaction to Dr. Bishop. He'd have to apologize sooner rather than later to avoid any legal trouble.

"Mac?" A familiar voice called out to him.

Tensing, Mac opened his eyes to see Bobby Singer approaching him. The man was wearing a suit and tie; if memory served him, it was what Bobby usually wore to mimic a member of the FBI. "What are you doing here?"

Bobby stepped up, "What do you think I'm doing here? I came to check on Caleb. Why in tarn-hill didn't you call us? Or pick up when we called you? I had to call around every hospital in NYC!"

Silence reigned for several seconds, Mac fighting hard to maintain his stoicism. "What made you think that Caleb would be in a hospital?" The sarcasm flew past his lips in a quiet sneer, his usual defense mechanism in place protecting him from feeling too much. "Could it be that he was shot, and you decided you were qualified to perform surgery?"

Bobby looked down in shame, "Yeah. I deserved that. But, none of us deserved to get cut off from that kid!" He raised his eyes. "I'll take responsibility for my error in judgment Mackland. Just – let me apologize."

Putting his head back, Mac resumed leaning against the wall. "I didn't."

"What was that?" Bobby frowned in confusion.

Taking in a deep breath, Mac explained, " _I_ didn't cut you off. Caleb requested his privacy. He didn't and still doesn't want anyone to know how ill he is."

"The only thing I heard was that he was in critical condition; that's why I rushed over here! Damned nurses refused to tell me anything else. What happened?" Bobby cried out, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

Covering his mouth, he spoke forcefully. "I can't tell you without Caleb's permission. He won't want to see you right now and his health is too fragile to upset him by denying him the secrecy he was begging for." Mac slipped his hand into the pant pocket where his house key was. Pulling out the key, he passed it to Bobby. "Since you're here – perhaps you can help straighten things up in my apartment. You can stay there until your return flight back to Sioux Falls."

"Not to sound ungrateful for _the opportunity_ to clean your place, but don't you have a maid?" Bobby certainly sounded snarky and ungrateful.

Shaking his head, Mac's tone delivered his disappointment and fatigue, "Bobby, I can't deal with you right now. So, either go home or make yourself useful. You need to leave before Caleb sees you. He'll be out in a few minutes."

Incredulously, Bobby remarked, "You're being serious right now. You're _not_ going to let me see Caleb? What about John? He's headed this way."

Mac snapped, his tone sharp and low. "Then you need to call him and tell him not to come." He ran his hands through his short graying hair in agitation.

"Hmm. It's not just Caleb – you don't wanna see us either. You're pissed off that we kept the accident from you." It was said matter-of-factly.

With a cold smirk, Mac said, "Glad we're on the same page. Now leave!"

Nodding in agreement, Bobby stepped back, "I'll call John and tell him not to come. I'll do my _penance_ in cleaning your place up. But, YOU call Jim and talk to him! Jim had nothing to do with this fuck-up. Pastor's worried sick. Thinks you're going to quit on him… I pray he's wrong."

"I'm sure that he can understand that I have bigger priorities than the Brotherhood at the moment." It was stated in a dismissive tone – Mac was done with the conversation. If it weren't for the fact that his son would panic, he'd simply walk away from Singer and leave him standing in the hallway.

"You can call and tell him that. He doesn't deserve your mistreatment." Bobby huffed at the stubborn doctor. "Fine - I'll straighten it up and get it ready for Caleb to come home. But, you better keep me in the loop as to how the kid is doing. And I don't care if it's a 'he's fine'."

Mac watched Singer walk away with a heavy heart.

-xxxxxx-

Bobby entered the Ames residence angrily – pissed off at the events that he'd unfolded. After being dismissed by Mackland, he manipulated a nurse into leaving her computer logged in and unattended so that he could access Reaves's medical records.

What he read filled him with ice. Idijit was symptomatic of a massive infection but decided to keep it to himself until he collapsed at his daddy's home with blood poisoning. Blood clots, fever so hot it could shut down organs, lungs filling up with fluid, and fear-based delirious screaming all documented in clinical terminology; as if the twenty-six-year-old was nothing but abnormal organic data-points.

Mackland's home was always welcoming. It was something that he and John often joked about; the bachelor had never been married, but he was able to create a feeling of warmth through his furnishings and décor that none of the other Hunters could manage without a feminine touch. Bobby had a home like that once when his beloved Karen was alive; now gone. But, he was happy to know that his friend was able to achieve it. When you walked into Mac's, you felt right at home.

Looking around the home now, you could see the chaos Caleb's infection had caused in the middle of the night. Blankets were piled up near the fireplace, used medical supplies, and small drips of blood spread on the once pristine carpet. The furniture had been shoved out of the way to make room for a gurney. There was evidence of dirty wheels and shoes tracking street dirt from the EMT team that carried out the kid.

His wife Karen would have been ashamed of him… The guilt of his actions filled the older hunter with dread. No wonder Mackland couldn't look him in the eye. He fucked up and he fucked up good, putting Caleb within death's reach.

He sat down on the couch and stared at the blood droplets for several minutes, before shaking off the despair. Bobby threw on a pair of medical gloves and started to pick up the used medical supplies to throw away – wary of needles that may have been thrown on the carpet in the heat of the moment.

The blankets were picked up and thrown in the large washing machine down the hall. Once the machine was started, he looked for the chemical blood stain remover that he knew the neurosurgeon had stored away for getting blood out of his scrubs. It was easy to find in the cabinet next to the dryer. Grabbing a washcloth, he saturated it with the chemical, then went about blotting the blood from the carpet.

He worked until the carpet stains were gone, then moved the furniture back into place until the apartment was back to its usual glory, but the warmth that had filled the home was missing. Now, it seemed to have been tainted by the echo left behind, only if in his mind.

-xxxxxx-

Mac breathed a sigh of relief after a diplomatic discussion with the hospital director. His attack on Dr. Bishop would be swept under the rug after agreeing to a set number of 'pro-bono consultation hours' to the hospital's neurosurgery department and a sincere apology for his 'emotional outburst' caused by severe stress. Ray Hernandez was by-the-book; he documented his vitals and subsequent reaction in the hospital's system of record, diagnosing him with 'acute stress reaction, situational'.

The test results were favorable to Caleb's continued recovery, the doctors deciding to downgrade him to a room in telemetry instead of the ICU, as the need to use of the ventilator was unnecessary as his breathing improved. They monitored his oxygen saturation constantly and put him on auxiliary oxygen when the numbers dipped lower than the medical team liked.

Caleb, as usual, jumped five steps ahead and started begging to be released from the hospital. As many times as Mac explained to his son that he wasn't healthy enough to be released, the resulting emotional reaction would cause a set-back forcing them to sedate him. Mac tried to persuade his son to relax, pointing out the obvious signs that he wasn't ready to read home: the need for oxygen, muscle weakness, and inability to focus, but Caleb argued back that he would regain his strength quickly once he was allowed to leave.

"Caleb," Mac spoke softly in trying to reason with his son, "you can barely focus. I've seen you struggle to read a book for more than a few minutes at a time. You need my arm to sit up, and short walks leave you winded, son. You have a fever and your bloodwork is still abnormal. We need to keep a close on you…"

"Dad, please… please, I want to go home. You can take care of me there… you've done it before," Caleb begged, his voice husky as he fought to overcome the shortness of breath, chest heaving under the strain. "I can ask to be released AMA."

The doctor realized his son was beyond reason, so he did the only thing that he could in this scenario – he negotiated. He shifted so that he was sitting by his son's hip on the bed, laying a hand over Caleb's wildly beating heart. He pulled the oxygen cannula from the hook on the IV stand to slip the tube under Caleb's nostrils and then around his earlobes to hold it in place. "How about this? Three more days, and I'll ask the doctors to release you into home care. Now, I didn't want to upset you, but Bobby Singer is currently staying in the guest room."

"No!" Caleb immediately struggled to sit up, but Mac had predicted the behavior, then worked to deescalate the overreaction by keeping him in the bed with a single hand.

"Son…" He spoke quietly, spacing out his words in a way that he knew would get through to his child, "you missed your call-in deadline, so the alarms were raised, and the Brotherhood sent someone to retrace your steps to try to find you. Bobby arrived at the hospital, but I sent him away without a word about your health like I _promised you_. He had wanted to apologize to you… I told him that he could stay at the apartment until his return flight as a kindness. I would never break my promise to you, Caleb." Mac shifted so that their fingers were entwined, "read me, son – I won't hide anything from you."

Caleb's eyes took on a glazed tinge as he tried to focus his psychic abilities. Mac helped stabilize the usually strong psychic connection between them as much as he could but felt the moment his son's strength failed. Without shame, Mackland used the weakness to solidify his narrative. "Three more days, Caleb… as long as you continue to improve, we can go home in three days with my monitoring you. With your approval, I'll call Bobby and ask him to start to get the supplies we'll need ready."

The outburst had left his son shaky, Mac could feel Caleb's hands trembling in his. "Okay – three days, Dad."

"Take a couple of deep breaths, son… your O2 level is dipping. Just take it easy… you'll get through this. I'm here."

Caleb huffed, "apparently, Bobby's here too." He gave a shadow of a smile.

Smiling back, Mac teased, "Bobby mentioned that John was on the way too. I had asked Bobby to tell John not to come, but you know the Winchesters…"

"Shit", Caleb groaned, "there'd be no stopping them." He covered his eyes with his free hand as he tried to catch his breath.

"I imagine they'll arrive by the time you're released," Mac commented matter-of-factly. "You should probably use these next three days to get rested up. You'll need every ounce of your strength to put up with them unless you decide to stay here..."

"Good try, Dad, but no way in hell. Three days… you promise?" Caleb looked at his father with wide-eyed hope and loving trust.

Mac returned the glance, grateful that his son was healing. "As long as your numbers continue _to improve_ , I promise."

The bleeping of the heart monitor slowed and both men were able to relax that the bargain had been struck. "Would you like me to read to you or would you prefer PT first, Caleb?"

Caleb blinked at the new decision offered, then selected the second option first. "Let's get the torture over with."

"Okay, arms first…" Mac went about through the gentle exercises the physical therapy team prescribed while his son was bedridden. While they weren't at all like the strenuous workouts that Caleb routinely performed in the gym, they kept his muscles from atrophy and his skin from forming ulcers.

-xxxxxx-

For Caleb, the three days couldn't come fast enough. He had improved in that the number of wires and tubes attached to his body had dropped down to a handful. If he'd be able, he would have danced a jig when they'd removed the balloon catheter in his bladder.

It was the one thing about the infection that he couldn't shake – the weak wet noodle feeling. According to both his father and the doctors who visited the room a couple of times a day, his white blood cell values were improving; it was a good sign. He was still taking antibiotics, but the doctors had started mixing the IV drugs with huge horse pills that he swallowed four times a day.

His father was able to acquire the oxygen tanks, IV pumps, lab testing machines, and the rest of the monitoring equipment designed for in-home use. Caleb overheard the nurses speaking about the expense of the medical supplies. One machine cost over $30k and the others were thousands of dollars each. He hated frivolous spending, much to his grandfather's delight.

Guiltily, he interrupted his father before he could place another phone order, offering to stay an extra day or two. Mac sat down on the edge of his bed; his brow wrinkled in worry. "Caleb, are you feeling worse?" The doctor rested his palm on his forehead in comfort versus any real medical need to measure his temperature. "You've been looking forward to going home for days. You've spoken of nothing else."

"No, I don't feel any worse, Dad. It wasn't my intention to be a burden to you. Mac, you've spent what - $50k on supplies and took leave from work to stay with me. I can barely stand right now; shit, I still need help wiping my ass and I just, I didn't think about the hassle I was causing you by asking you to bring me to your place. Maybe it's better if I stay here?"

Mac place a gentle hand over his son's lips to keep him from speaking, mindful to make sure it wouldn't impede his breathing in any way. "You are not a burden to me. You are my son and I would do anything to help you get better. Bobby is scheduled to fly out in 4 days and has _offered_ to assist us at home until then. The medical supplies are a business investment that I am planning to use at my office once you no longer need them. It's why I selected the more professionally accurate models and why they are more expensive than the typical home-use supplies. As for your personal care, if you'd like, I'd be happy to bring in a nurse to help if you're uncomfortable with my assistance. Caleb, I made you a promise and I'm ready to keep it if you allow me to."

"I don't need a nurse, Dad. You – you won't resent me after all of this?"

"Son, after getting through your punk rock, smoking weed and the 'I hate your guts' phases, I'm confident in my ability get us both through this without anyone feeling resentful." Mac was rewarded with a bright smile and a nod of agreement.

"Thank you." Caleb would have continued but a knock at the door shifted his attention. He assumed it would be another doctor giving them one more 'you're being released against medical advice' speech before signing off on the paperwork that would get him out of there. Instead of one of his doctors, he met the green eyes of his best friend walking through his private hospital room.

"Dean?" Mac stood up from the edge of the bed and towards the young man standing awkwardly in the front of the room. He gave the nervous 18-year-old a hug, then pulled him closer to his friend.

"I – um- Bobby told me where you were. Damien –shit – I didn't know, or I would have been here sooner."

His father noticed that he was starting to panic right away, coming over to hold his hand and whispered in his ear. "Shhh, Caleb. Calm down or they'll give you a sedative. You don't want to delay your escape plan, do you?"

Dean was staring at his friend in fear, afraid that what Bobby had told him about Caleb not wanting to see any of them was true. "Caleb? You okay?"

Mac gave him a ghost of a smile, "Dean, why don't you pull up that chair and sit beside us? I'm sure Caleb is pleasantly surprised to see you. Let's give him a moment."

Dean did as he was told, sitting beside his friend.

"Deuce, thanks for coming but didn't Bobby tell you that I was going home today?" Caleb sounded breathless – the surprise flooding his weakened body with adrenaline.

Dean didn't do patience very well and his best friend knew it, so he gave a shrug. "Yeah, but I thought I could help out." He ran a hand through his short hair, "Sammy had school – kid threw a fit when I told him to skip, so he's still in the Ozarks with Dad. Jim, Bobby, and Sam talked him out of coming. He told me to tell you that you're not getting out of training camp with this stunt."

"Yeahhh," Caleb lied, "Wwouldnn't missss it." It was fairly obvious to anyone who could see him now – he could barely breathe, how the hell would he be able to hunt? Dean brought with him the real-world realities that the hospital had sheltered him from.

His father put the oxygen cannula over his face again, ignoring his attempts at batting it away by holding his hand. Even if his friend weren't a trained observer, the kid knew him well enough to see how incredibly weak he was unable to pull away from his father's light restraint. It was enough to make him want him to run away.

"Dean?" His father's voice sounded far away, and Caleb felt hot again. "Could you please step outside? I just need a few minutes alone with Caleb."

Caleb felt his father's hands on his face, tilting his chin up in a way he knew helped expand his trachea and encouraged airflow. "Caleb, can you hear me, son? You're having a panic attack."

One of the nurses came into the room, the monitors alerting her to a possible problem. "Dr. Ames? Do we need a sedative?"

"Caleb – do you want a sedative?"

"No", Caleb regained enough of his consciousness to know that would mean that he wouldn't be released today. The sedatives would knock him out until the morning in his diminished state.

"Tell me what you need, Caleb."

"I want to go home," he cried.

"Soon Caleb… just a few hours and you'll be in your bed. Maybe you can introduce Bobby and Dean to that show we were watching about Hunters? We can all laugh about how the tiny blonde girl kills vampires with a piece of wood instead of a machete. It was quite entertaining if entirely inaccurate. I think I forgot to thank you for introducing me to it."

Caleb listened to Mac's calming voice as he spoke of fluffy nonsense designed to keep him in the present, focusing on keeping his breathing steady until his heart rate monitor's triggered alert deactivated.

"Would you prefer if I asked Dean and Bobby to stay at a hotel or with us at the apartment?"

"It's your place," Caleb remarked tiredly.

"And that wasn't what I asked. There are no wrong answers, son. I want you to feel comfortable and secure at home."

"Hotel – please."

"Is it alright if Dean helps us during discharge? It would be nice to have an extra pair of hands…"

"Okay."

"Alright. I'm going to step out for a couple of minutes to speak to Dean and tell him about the plan. All you need to do is relax until the doctor signs the paperwork. I'll send him back in shortly."

Caleb listened to his father's footsteps, finally allowing tears to fall once he was past the door.

-xxxxxx-

Dean wasn't too far away. Mac found him down the hall by a snack machine. He didn't seem to select any candy – but stared at the colorful wrappers and lost in his thoughts.

"Dean?" Mac called to capture his attention.

"Mac, I'm sorry. I didn't know – I didn't mean to upset him." While Dean often looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, this time it looked as if it were crushing him.

The doctor took the time to give him another hug in comfort, pulling away after a few beats but only by a couple of steps, staying in his personal space. Dean allowed it. "I know. I can't tell you much about his condition without permission, but we need to control Caleb's level of stress and keep it at a minimum. When we speak about the future, the medical staff and I keep it at _an hour_ increment. Dean," Mac ran a hand through his hair, then huffed, "The only training Caleb will be doing within the next month is lung capacity exercises and I think that reality struck when you mentioned John's training camp. Dean, _for now_ , until we can get him home and stabilized – focus on the present. An hour or so at a time."

"I can do that, Mac." Dean straightened up and pulled his shirt down as if at attention. "What can I do to help?"

"Plans have changed. Originally, you and Bobby were going to stay at the apartment, but I'm going to move both of you into a nearby hotel. To give Caleb back his sense of control and privacy, before you drop by, I'd like for you to call him to see if he's agreeable for you to visit. When you notice that he's becoming tired or starting to lose focus, ask if there's anything you could do for him. Ask if he's alright with your staying. If he says 'no', don't take it personally. Ultimately, you're going to have to reset your expectations. There aren't many things that he'll be able to do just yet and he's going to need all our help to fully recover. It's going to be slow… and you'll need to be patient."

Mac paused, making sure that Dean was digesting what he was telling him. When their eyes met, and Dean nodded, Mac continued. "For now, I'll follow up with his doctors and ask them to delay releasing him for a couple of hours. I want his vitals to stabilize before attempting to move him. It's going to tax him. Caleb will be moved via a wheelchair to an accessible van. If you can help us by grabbing doors, the bags, and being a gopher for us – that would be superb. I had asked Bobby to help move furniture in the apartment so that we'll be able to navigate it to his bedroom when we arrive. Naomi came by earlier and setup Caleb's bedroom with the supplies we'll need to manage his day-to-day. I imagine he's going to be upset when he realizes that his bedroom has been turned into a hospital room, so anything you can do to raise his spirits would be welcome. And, this goes without saying – your usual coping mechanism is now null-and-void considering the medications that Caleb is taking. Don't try to sneak him in any alcohol, alright? Right now, it would land him back in the hospital."

"I understand, Mac. Just point me where you need me."

"It's going to be alright, Dean." With a firm pat to the younger man's shoulder, Mac went back into his son's hospital room.

-xxxxxx-

"Mac, this is definitely NOT alright. Don't you think we should turn around and go back to the hospital?" Dean wiped at his mouth, turning away from the smell and sounds in case he followed in his best friend's footsteps.

It didn't take long for Dean to figure out why Caleb had tried to prevent his visit. Caleb was shaking like a leaf by the time the nurses and Mac got him into a wheelchair. Dean tried to hide his shock, reset expectations like Mac had warned, but it still was difficult to watch someone so strong need that much help to get out of a bed and into a chair. Caleb was white as the sheets covering his legs even with the narcotic pain medication he'd been given before disconnecting him from the machines. Mac reattached the oxygen mask and then waited several minutes until Caleb nodded that he was ready to leave.

Dean had grabbed Caleb's backpack and the emergency medical bags per Mac's instructions then followed the nurse pushing the chair to the entrance of the hospital. A rented medical van had been waiting for them and they'd been ushered inside. It had been the first time that Dean had ever seen the inside of one of those vans outside of fixing the engines. On a mechanical level, it was cool how the hydraulics could lift a wheelchair with a press of the button, but on an aesthetic level – it was the ugliest ride he'd ever seen. He didn't even want to consider the passengers' comfort – there was none. He felt like a sardine in a tin can.

They were barely five miles away from the hospital when Caleb started to spew then collapsed. Dean's heart was racing, and he was trying to keep from panicking in fear – not knowing how to handle the situation.

Thankfully, Mac had it under control. Maybe it was because he was psychic or maybe because he was a doctor, but Mac had held a basin under Caleb's chin before he puked. From then, Dean was commanded to hand over supplies from the medical bag as they were called out.

After throwing up, Caleb's eyes rolled back into his head, and then he was just out.

"This is a vasovagal syncope episode; it was most likely triggered by pain and stress. Once we get him home, I'll restart IV fluids and give him an extra dose of morphine. As long as his O2 stats don't drop, there's no need to go back to the hospital. I was… expecting something like this, Dean."

Dean stared at his friend. Caleb's head was tucked against Mac's shoulder as the older man wrapped his arm around him supportively; it was the only thing keep Caleb from slipping out of the wheelchair. You could barely see his pale face, nose, and mouth covered in a foggy oxygen mask. Dean licked his lips from the sudden dryness of his mouth. "This is all my fault, Mac. I'm sorry."

Mac leaned his head back against the headrest, meeting Dean's eyes. He was soft-spoken and soothing when he finally responded. "What do you mean, son? How is _any_ of this _your_ fault?"

Dean's eyes were watery and frightened. "I shot him, Mac. It was an accident, but I pulled the trigger."

"Does Caleb ever talk about the connection we share?"

Dean blinked at the non sequitur and became confused by the fact that Mac had ignored his confession. "I – I don't… what do you mean?"

"The day Caleb and I met was the first time that I'd ever felt an instantly bonded with another human being. I always thought soulmates were a hallmark movie concept designed to sell fairytales. I'd never considered that it could be anything but a romantic notion nor did I consider that it a soulmate could be anyone but a lover. I was wrong. For lack of a better term, I found my soulmate in Caleb that day and there's no one in my life that I feel more connected to on an emotional, spiritual, and psychic level. Dean, I **know my son**. I can see inside his heart. I know his dreams and I see his nightmares."

Dean's voice was gravel, "I didn't know. He didn't say anything – I mean, I knew you were close."

Mac gave him a warm smile, "We are. When he was a teenager, he hated our connection. But, as he grew older, I know that he started to find it comforting. I'm only telling you this Dean because I know how much he loves you. You're his little brother. I also _know_ that you didn't shoot him. He's blocking me from seeing who did, but I know it wasn't you. However, you _did_ hurt his feelings. But, you already know that."

"Yeah," Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat, "I knew. He couldn't look at me in the eyes when he left."

Caleb started stirring, so Mac remarked that they needed to finish the conversation later. The doctor shifted the hold so that his palm was placed against the side of Caleb's neck. "Caleb, take a deep breath for me."

It took several seconds for him to obey, but Dean could see how Caleb relaxed under his father's touch and tried not to feel jealous at the sight of the two men. He could say many things about John Winchester, but doting wasn't one of them. Whenever he was ill, his father would tell him to 'man-up' – forget about offering comfort or even a supporting hand. Mac was the one he associated with caretaking outside of his mother.

Dean leaned down to catch his friend's roving eyes, waiting until they finally focused on his face before commenting, "You scared the shit out of me, Damien. I mean, you haven't even shared the dirt on the hot nurses yet." He smirked to take away the sting.

With a shaking hand, he pulled down the oxygen mask and slowly pulled away from Mac's embrace. When he finally spoke, it was rough, dry. "I got a couple of numbers, but I'm not sharing."

"Hey, now" Dean joked, "Didn't your dad teach you how to share?"

"Nope – I'm a spoiled rich kid." He shrugged, then rubbed at his forehead. He looked out the window judging the short distance to his father's place based on the landmarks. They were only a couple of minutes away now. The last he remembered that they were pulling away from the hospital. "What happened?"

"You fainted like a girl, Damien. But first, you puked. It was gross." Mac told him to keep Caleb's spirits up – he didn't promise that he'd turn into a girl to do it though.

"I don't faint!"

"Yeah, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Uh, yeah you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you DO."

Mac chuckled, "Children – don't make me turn the car around." Dean rolled his eyes at him. Caleb was too busy breathing to heckle his father as if that juvenile fight was enough to exhaust him. "We're almost there…"

"If I were you, I'd be looking forward to that that Posturepedic mattress of yours."

"Yeah," Caleb swallowed, "can't wait."

Mac rested a hand against his back, then moved the mask back over his face. "Try to breathe through your nose, slow and steady. Just another minute, son."

That minute couldn't come fast enough, but finally, they were at the apartment complex. Caleb seemed embarrassed, hiding his eyes as they passed by neighbors in the lobby. They seemed kind offering to help carry bags and saying "get well soon" to him. With every comment, Caleb seemed to shrink deeper into the chair.

Bobby was waiting at the door to the penthouse apartment and held the door open for their entourage. "I'm happy to see you, kid. Welcome home."

"Hey, Bobby." Dean greeted when no one else responded to the other man.

"Hey", Caleb muttered before looking at his feet for a while. They could all hear Caleb gasp when he looked up and noticed the changes made to the apartment. The couch had been moved to the back wall and the recliners were spread apart so that a wheelchair could fit between. The coffee table had been removed, as had a couple of chairs at the dining table. There were handrails along the hallway and walls to help him navigate to the bathroom from his room without needing an arm to steady him.

"I'll help you wash up and into bed, Caleb." Mac pushed the chair through the hall and into his retrofitted bedroom. "Dean, perhaps you and Bobby can run some laundry for us."

Dean awkwardly stayed behind to talk with Bobby. It seemed like both of them were in the doghouse with the Ames family.

"What?" Caleb cried at the sight of his bedroom / converted hospital room, he pulled the mask away from his face and tried to stand up in anger but faltering. "Why?"

Mac caught him before he could hurt himself; then adjusted their stance so that Caleb was sitting on the edge of the bed instead of the wheelchair. Kneeling before him, he met his son's tear-filled eyes. Cupping his son's face, he wiped at the wetness on Caleb's cheeks, erasing the evidence of his breakdown. "It's temporary, Caleb. I'm only keeping it here as long as it's medically necessary. I'm planning to move all of it to my office. We talked about this, remember?" Caleb nodded in defeat, head down, shoulders rounded. "Don't worry, I'll also take the new Philips 42-inch plasma television with me in the move. I imagine reading the new digital brain scans at work would look incredible on this screen. Since I've raised a 'spoiled rich kid', I'll suspend my 1 hour of tv per day rule while you visit." It was said tongue in cheek; the television was going to be gifted to Caleb and moved into his apartment.

Mac smiled when Caleb's eyes widened when his attention was directed to the $15,000 television mounted on his bedroom wall. "It's not all bad, son. We're together. Your friends are here to help. And, you're **going to** heal. Just be patient with yourself."

He ran his hand through his son's hair, then pulled out a pair of loose pajamas for Caleb to change into from the drawer behind him. Standing, he got up to grab the sterile cleaning wipes from one of his medical bags, when he was stopped by Caleb's weak grip on his cuff. "Son?"

Tears were freely streaking down his face and his chest tightened in pressure to hold in his emotions. He felt like he was going to explode. The room was darkening. That fucking mask was put over his face again and he fought to push it away. "Caleb, it's me, son. You're safe. Please stop fighting me."

"Bobby! Dean!" Mac called out to the men in the other room. "We need your help."

Caleb shook his head, not wanting to see anyone. "No!" It was muffled through the mask but easily understood. "Leave me alone."

"Mac?" Bobby ran into the bedroom, Dean at his heels.

"I need you to lift Caleb into bed. Avoid touching his abdomen and make sure he's at an incline." While the two of them shifted Caleb up to the head of the bed where a triangle support pillow was set up to help maintain the position, Mac filled a syringe with a combination of sedative and painkiller. Caleb kept trying to fight off the hands, yelling at them all to 'go away'. Using the IV port the hospital left in his forearm, the drugs were injected without fuss once Dean caught his hand to hold it in place.

It only took a full minute for the drugs to kick in, Caleb slumping as if his wires had been cut. The doctor went about taking vitals, trying to maintain his emotional control at seeing his son in distress.

Dean sat at the other side of the bed, his knee against Caleb's hip still holding his friend's hand. "Caleb, what the hell, man? Mac isn't going to hurt you – you know that."

There was nothing but a blank expression on Caleb's face. "Son, we agreed that if you were going to come home early, that you'd need to be monitored…Please, Caleb. Trust me." Caleb shut his eyes, ignoring all of them – letting Mac do what he needed without another word. "I'll help you get cleaned up, then I'm going to restart the IV with the antibiotics and attach the ECG."

Dr. Ames worked quietly; Bobby hung back at the foot of the bed, watching – while Dean slid off the bed and into the desk chair in the corner of the room. They all watched while Mac undressed his son, covering him in sheets until he could use the cleansing wipes to bathe him starting at his face.

Dean came over and pulled on a pair of medical gloves. "I can help. Caleb?" When he didn't get an answer, he stood awkwardly feeling like a voyeur until Mac handed him an unopened package of wipes.

"Just do as I do – gently. You need to change out the gloves and wipes frequently." Mac started on Caleb's hands, shifting up to his forearms to his shoulder. He could see Caleb squirm, uncomfortable. "Dean, try a slightly firmer touch. I'll get his chest if you can use a new wipe on his legs. We're almost done, Caleb." They worked quickly together, professional in their care; washing away the sweat and puke that had splattered. "Caleb, I'll just finish up your back." He shifted his son onto his side, then switched out the gloves and continued down his back. He skipped the intimate care while the men were present. Once Caleb was a bit more settled, he'd help him take a bath and show him how to avoid getting the incision wet.

"I hate you." Caleb's voice cracked in his grief, "why won't you just leave me alone?" He seemed uncaring of his audience.

"Because I love you." Mac helped him turn onto his back, wanting nothing more than to hold his son in his arms. But he knew his son well enough to know that would not be welcome now. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, then continued his doctoring by attaching the IV line to the port with the antibiotic being delivered along with the saline. Peeling away the stickers of the electrodes, he placed the patches on his chest then clipped the wires to them.

Immediately, the alarms alerted the room to the extremely high heart rate and respirations startling Bobby and Dean; they were unused to being woken by monitor alarms at all hours of the day/night. Mac put the machine in silent mode and then stared at the red-lined beats in dread.

When Caleb had left the hospital, his vitals had finally come down to what they had considered orange; high enough but showing improvement. It was still serious and could suddenly take a turn for the worst, which was why the physicians treating Caleb recommended against leaving the hospital. There, they'd be able to quickly react to the decline and had a full staff of hands to assist. Mackland had hoped that by being at home, the stress caused by being in a place that frightened him would decrease and thus further normalize his vital signs.

"Caleb, we're going to let you rest for a little bit. If you need me, there's a call button on your right." Mac patted his hand, then motioned for the other two men to follow him out the door.

Dean looked pale, shaken by what he just experienced while Bobby maintained his gruffness. Mac extended his hand towards the living room inviting them to sit while he pulled over the cart with the laptop networked to Caleb's monitors to his chair to keep an eye on his son's vital signs. This would be the first time since Caleb's collapse that his son hadn't begged him not to leave his side.

Mac rubbed his eyes, tired and emotionally drained.

Bobby got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, holding it out to the doctor who waved it away. "I'm working."

"Yeah," Bobby gravelly commented, "I can see that. Was he _that bad_ the entire time?"

Mac jerked his head up, his temper snapping. "That _bad_? It wouldn't have _been_ that bad if you hadn't –" gritting his teeth, he bit down the rage and curses that were on the tip of his tongue. "He almost died; I'm grateful that he's still alive to be _that bad_."

"Even as a kid, he'd scream bloody murder if you tried to take him to a hospital; Guess I thought he'd grow out of it." Bobby wondered aloud, "What's your plan, Mac? 'Cause while I can't claim that I know enough about all those machines you got him hooked up to, I assume _red_ ain't good. That kid ain't well enough to be at home – that's for damned sure."

"I'll wait for ten minutes. If his vitals don't drop, I'll increase the pain medication and the sedative so that he'll sleep a few hours. He was on a medication schedule at the hospital that will need to be maintained. I have physical and respiratory therapists coming in an hour a day to help with treatment. He usually eats five small meals a day: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and two nutritional shakes or yogurt. Prefers the chocolate and strawberry flavored ones. Most importantly, I run bloodwork three times a day to measure his white blood count. As long as the numbers are either static or decrease, he can stay at home. If it rises or other complications occur, I'll call an ambulance to take him back to the hospital."

Dean had been quietly absorbing the information as the two men talked. "What about his mental state? Mac, I've never seen him act like that before; it's scaring me. I mean, I don't even know what this is. What the hell happened to him?" Dean had seen his friend angry before, he'd seen him sad – hell, he'd even seen him horny and trying to pick up anything with legs. This – this was new.

Mac rubbed at his mustache, trying to figure out how not to cross the line Caleb dug in the sand regarding his right to privacy with answering Dean's question. "A recent study conducted by the NIH in London showed a 40% mortality rate in patients who did not receive a prophylactic administration of antibiotics after severe abdominal penetrating trauma – such as a stab wound or gun-shot. The risk of developing life-threatening septicemia increases 7% with a previous history of abdominal injury. Bobby remembers this, but Caleb has had surgery to repair his intestines at the age of fifteen. He also went two full days without antibiotics post gunshot to the abdomen after 'surgery' was performed in a non-sterile environment. You may form your conclusions based on those facts."

Taking a deep breath, Mac continued. "Regarding his current mental state – he's grieving, son. He's grieving his loss of control, independence, and body autonomy. He skipped over denial and went straight into bargaining and anger at the hospital. Once he bargained his way _out_ of that environment, that's when he started shifting from depression to anger, then back to depression. Caleb's exhausted; he can't see a way out of the emotional loop that he's created in his mind. He's going to get better – but it won't be instant. Dean, he's going to need your help – your optimism. He'll need all of us."

Dean nodded seriously, "I'll call Dad. I'll tell him that you need me here; I won't leave – unless Caleb kicks me out."

"I was planning to fly out in a few days but, I can delay –" Bobby started to offer, but Mac shook his head. "Thank you, but it's not necessary. I'm planning that by the time you leave, we can get him on his feet and walking short distances. It's why I installed grips along the wall."

Hesitantly, Dean asked, "How long until he's – back to normal?"

Mac stood up, then shrugged. "Might be three weeks or it might be three months – it depends on how quickly his body fights off the infection and responds to treatment. I've seen patients struggle with effects six months to a year later and others that never fully recover. Caleb's saving grace is his physical condition – his risk of permanent damage is low."

Staring at the continued red lines on the computer screen, plan A was a go. "I'll be right back. Dean, could you please start dinner?"

-xxxxxx-

Knocking on the door to his son's room, Mac walked in with a heavy heart. Caleb had managed to turn himself onto his side and buried his face in his pillows, an oxygen mask tossed in the sheets unused. He could see the shuddering breaths along his son's back and hear the hitches of his cries.

Pressing the injector on the IV stand, he increased the dose of pain medication by half before walking over to the storage chest at the end of the bed to pull out an extra blanket to put over his son. Mac watched for a few seconds before following the instinct that he'd suppressed earlier and slid on top of the covers next to his weeping child. Slowly, he eased the pillow away from Caleb's face. It was red, blotchy, and pained. The pillow was placed against his belly, providing both warmth and protection as he held his son. Gently, he maneuvered his left arm under Caleb's neck and rested his hand against his heaving back. With his right, he stroked his face, neck, shoulder, and arm sliding up and down in slow repetition. "I'm here, Caleb. You're safe." He cupped his jaw, wiping the trail of tears that seemed unending, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Purposefully, he slowed his breathing in hopes that Caleb would follow his pattern and calm. "Talk to me, son. Tell me what's wrong."

"Tired…" Caleb cried. "I'm so tired."

Mac stroked his hair, avoiding the painful lymph nodes, but trying to offer a small measure of physical comfort. Tired could mean 'I'm depressed' or it could mean 'I've run out of the reserves needed to handle the circumstances'. It could also be both, which was more likely.

"What can I do to help you rest?"

Caleb shook his head 'no'. His chest was rising, and his neck was extending as he struggled to catch his breath. Mac pulled the mask from out of the covers to hold it over Caleb's face. "Try and take a couple of deep breaths. Slow, son. Slow down… shhh."

The tears came faster at that. Caleb shifted so that he was tucked against Mac's neck, hiding like the little boy that Mac never got to meet. He slid the strap of the oxygen mask behind Caleb's head to hold it in place, then adjusted their position so that both of his arms were wrapped around his Caleb's back. His body was tense, tight. "Are you in pain?"

There was a nod under his chin. "Okay, this position isn't helping. I'll help you lie on your back and we'll try a couple of non-narcotic techniques." Giving his son an additional dose of morphine was ill-advised with the way that he was struggling to breathe. The option of injecting a sedative now was out of the question; it would only dampen his emotional reserves further.

Slipping his arm out from under Caleb's head smoothly, he got out of bed then walked over to the other side to better reach Caleb. It was tough to turn him onto his back without causing additional pain but tried to work quickly to lessen the agony. Once Caleb was resting upright against the pillows, Mac rearranged the blankets to keep him warm.

There was a basket on the dresser that he knew was gifted by Esme – to help aid in healing. His time spent was Esme was both enjoyable and educational – it was why he loved spending time with her. She stimulated his mind and was a balm to his daily strife. Her passion for natural medicines coincided with his desire to heal the mind and body. Esme taught him about herbs, teas, lotions – things that he'd never considered using to relieve pain. Now, it seems her teachings were going to be put to the test. Thankfully, she seemed to take pity on his memory by providing use instructions for each bottle.

One of the lotions wrapped in a blue bow with a label marked 'eases pain and aids in breathing – apply topically'. Its main ingredients were menthol, camphor, and oil of evergreen. He put on a pair of gloves, then warmed the lotion in his hands before sitting beside his son to apply the ointment. He tugged the blanket from his chest, rubbing the remedy firmly along the muscles of his neck, chest, and arms like a massage. He wasn't in any hurry, letting his hands soothe the tightness away. Esme's gift was working wonders, healing his son's spirit as well as his body by strengthening the link between them. The red-lines of the ECG lowered to orange, dipping into the green every so often; borderline high as Caleb fell asleep naturally.

Mac stayed in the room, watching Caleb sleep until there was a soft knock on the door. He tucked his son's hand under the blankets, then got the door quietly to prevent him from waking.

Dean was at the door, hovering nervously. "Is everything alright with Caleb, Mac?"

Nodding, Mac shut the bedroom door and walked towards the kitchen, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder to guide the direction and offer reassurance that all was well. "Caleb fell asleep. So, let's take the opportunity to finish our conversation over a meal."

"I finished making dinner. It's simple – but hearty. Sheppard's pie. I hope you like it." Dean tended to undervalue his culinary talents, always understating his accomplishments. Mackland had wished that he could find some way to build up his self-esteem, but every time he made headway with Dean, John would find a way to knock his son down. He understood the military mind-games; keeping your men constantly seeking approval was a way to keep soldiers in line. No matter how many times he argued with his friend, it was something they'd never see eye-to-eye on.

"Thank you, Dean. I'm sure that Bobby and I are in for a treat. Once Caleb wakes, I'm sure that he'd also love to try it."

The kitchen table was set for three, the spot for a wheelchair vacant. In the center of the table was a large casserole dish that smelled heavenly after eating hospital cafeteria meals and bowls of corn, green beans, and broccoli. Bobby pulled out the chair for him, making Mac blink at the attentiveness. He sat, then Dean served him large portions of each dish. Once Dean had judged that his plate could hold no more food, he scooped himself up a moderate portion and then handed the serving spoon to Bobby so that he could serve himself.

Mac stared at the table, waiting for his 'guests' to start eating. After a few minutes, he looked up to see both men staring at him. "Eat, Mac," Bobby ordered.

"I was being polite," Mac remarked, before picking up his spoon to take the first bite that the other two men seemed to be waiting on to start eating.

"You look like you've lost at least 5 lbs. since I last saw you – which wasn't _that_ long ago." Bobby remarked, speaking with his mouth full. "I remember a doctor once told me that in a crash landing, you put the oxygen mask over yourself first. You forget that, Doc? 'Cause you look like shit."

"Thank you for that eloquent assessment, Bobby. And for your information, we're not in a crash landing." Mackland took a sip of the flavored sparkling water that Dean must have found in his refrigerator.

"No?" Bobby snarked, "Then what do you call this?"

"It's caregiving." Mac took a breath, noticing the two men roll their eyes at his simplicity, so he further explained. "It's meant to be taxing. It's a labor of love."

"Doesn't mean you have to work yourself to the bone. Let us help. And I don't mean cookin' and cleanin' either." Bobby argued.

"It's not up to me… it's up to Caleb and his comfort level with your help."

Dean had been quietly listening up until that point. "I don't get it, Mac. I thought we were friends – that he was fine when I dropped him off at the airport. Why did he hide how sick he was from us?"

Mac put his spoon down, losing his appetite at the subject. "I don't know, Dean. That question will haunt me for a long time. I hope that once Caleb's feeling better, he might illuminate us."

Pointing his spoon at Mac's plate, Dean took up the mantle Bobby had given up while stuffing his face. "Mac, please – eat."

-xxxxxx-

Caleb slept for a few hours before the alarms started beeping alerting them that his vitals were rising. Mac got up from the couch where he'd been persuaded to take a nap. It was a good idea, he felt rested and his mind was clearer.

His son woke up from a nightmare, gasping for breath and calling out for his mother the way that he did during their early days together. He was screaming for his father to stop – to stop killing his mother and unborn little brother. His shouts frightened Dean, who had begged to stay the night at the apartment and not be sent away to a hotel. Dean practically kicked down the door gun-in-hand, thinking his best friend was being attacked only to find him hiding under the covers like a five-year-old.

Mac reached out a hand to Dean, lowering the weapon before walking over to his son to gather him up against his chest, uncaring of who was watching. He ran his hand through Caleb's hair and spoke to him like he had every time previously. Dean put his gun down on the dresser, then came over to the side of the bed and slid in behind the pair.

Dean rested his cheek against Caleb's back, rubbing his shoulders lightly. "It's okay, Caleb. I'm here, man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're my brother too." His voice cracked. He felt a hand in his hair and jerked, startled. Glancing up, he realized it was Caleb's dad trying to soothe him. Relaxing, he returned to his previous position and allowed himself to be comforted – just this once since his father wasn't there. There were days like this when he wished that Mac was his father, jealous of his best friend's luck. John Winchester was more likely to throw a beer at him than he was to hug him when he woke up screaming.

Once the storm had passed and Caleb was aware, no longer trapped in his nightmares, Mac shifted gears to inject the next round of antibiotics before mentioning that Dean had made dinner. Dean jumped up and offered to bring in a plate, seemingly wanting a moment to put himself together.

"Sorry," Caleb mumbled into his blankets, shame coloring his cheeks.

Mac stepped close enough to lift Caleb's chin with a finger so that their eyes could meet. "You don't need to apologize for anything."

"I do. I should've told you what happened – that I got shot. I screwed things up – and fucked up both of our lives." Caleb looked devastated. His breathing coming in gasps at every word. The monitors still reading too high.

"No matter how many mistakes you make, son, I would never regret having you in my life." Mac ran a knuckle down Caleb's stubbled wet cheek. "When you're feeling better, we'll talk about this. We'll **all** talk about this – run a break-down analysis and come up with a structured plan to avoid anything like it in the future. You don't own all the blame here, son. There were plenty of screw-ups. What happened to you was unfortunate, but you're going to be alright. You just need a bit of patience and rest."

Dean conveniently walked in before Caleb could respond, carrying in a tray heaping with the meal he had cooked. "I hope you like Sheppard's pie and veggies." He pulled over the rolling overbed table and place the tray on top, moving it to Caleb's side so he could reach. Smiling, he pulled out a spork from his pocket and put it next to the plate. "If sporks were invented for anything, Sheppard's pie is it. Eat up, Damien."

Holding up the spork in curiosity, Caleb questioned, "Where did it come from?"

"Dude, it was in Mac's utensil drawer." Dean poked fun at the doctor. Both boys looking up at him waiting for an explanation.

"It was a gag gift," Mac said deadpan.

Caleb took a bite of the dinner, humming appreciatively. "Dad has a secret gag gift buyer. He won't tell. I think it's my Grandfather."

Dean sat on the end of the bed, listening like they were having a damn sleepover or something. Well, it wasn't that far from the fact. "What else has he gotten?"

Shrugging, Caleb took another small bite. "Boxers or t-shirts, funny mugs, it's all random."

"We should start an investigation," Dean suggested. "It's not like we have anything else to do. Give us a couple of days and we can figure it out. I mean, if you want to?"

"Okay," Caleb put his utensil down, then sat back against the pillows as if suddenly exhausted. His breathing deepened, and eyes drooped.

Mac had been waiting in the wings, writing down the medications that he'd administered and updating the medical record while being quietly amused at the boys' plan. He'd glance over occasionally, to monitor how much food Caleb ingested. It wasn't much – barely a spoonful.

"Caleb, can you eat half?" Mac prompted. His son shook his head 'no' grumpily. "How about if one of us helps you?"

"Later."

Mac stood up from his chair and pulled the tray from over the bed to the corner of the room. Picking up the plate, he offered, "I'll put this in the fridge for you. I'll whip you up a smoothie in a bit to sip at. Do you want to watch TV?" Caleb nodded, prying open his eyes. Mac pulled out the remote control from the desk drawer and handed it to his son. He picked up the oxygen mask and simply raised an eyebrow. Caleb nodded, without argument slipping it over his face.

"That is a freaking awesome TV, Mac." Dean was impressed. "I've never seen anything like it before outside of a magazine."

Mac smiled, "Enjoy it." With that, he left the boys to have their fun.

-xxxxxx-

Mac pulled the computer monitor into his office to keep an eye on Caleb's vital signs while the boys watched television. Bobby had taken him up on checking into a hotel, leaving shortly after dinner. He mentioned that he'd call in the morning before dropping by as he'd promised to check in on them.

This was the first time that he'd been apart from his son and that was thanks to Dean being there. He knew if his son were to need help, the young man would call out to him. His office was as he'd left it, if not cleaner due to Bobby's penance. Staring at the phone, he decided to call Jim Murphy. The man always did right by him and his son.

The phone rang a few times then was picked up. "Good evening," Jim's warm voice answered. He could hear barking in the background, with Jim hushing the dogs so he could hear.

"Good evening, Jim," Mac replied.

He could hear Jim's intake of breath, "Mackland, I'm so very happy to hear your voice. You had me worried, my friend. How are you?"

"I'm – I've been better, Jim." Mac rubbed his forehead, unable to pretend to be 'fine'.

Jim was quiet, waiting to see if his friend would start speaking without prompt, but he didn't. "I won't lie to you, Mackland. I've received a couple of reports of how the hunt in the Ozarks unfolded. How is Caleb?"

"He's at home now. He's having a sleepover with Dean." Mac knew that he was being childish in his anger. He couldn't find himself to care.

"I promise you, Mackland. I will fix this. It will never happen again under my watch. God as my witness, I will put a stop to the negligence that occurred." He was serious, voice unyielding.

"I don't understand, Jim. I don't understand how it could have happened to begin with. Caleb – I can understand why he wouldn't want to go to the hospital. He's terrified of them; it's something I've been trying to help him overcome. But, why would Winchester and Singer not override him? Dean is currently blaming himself for the entire situation and I _know_ that he's not at fault. I can't help but feel that I'm being blocked from seeing a critical piece to the events that unfolded. I've been thinking of nothing else but trying to puzzle this out."

Jim sounded curious, "And what have you pieced together?"

"Nothing good." Mac covered his mouth with his fist in trying not to overreact.

"You think they were protecting someone," Jim stated factually.

"It's the only thing that makes sense, Jim."

Jim sighed, "Why don't I share the facts that were reported, and perhaps two plus two will equal four? The hunt in the Ozarks was to kill an elf. Bobby and John teamed up to handle the brunt of the hunt, while Caleb, Sam, and Dean worked as a back-up. Sam and Dean split off from Caleb. Caleb was shot by friendly fire. Dean claimed he shot Caleb. Bobby and John carried Caleb back to the hotel instead of a hospital. Bobby took out the bullet. There was an assumption made that he was well. Caleb left to go home to you – John mentioned that Caleb was tired of Sam playing Florence Nightingale."

"I know that I asked for John not to come, but why isn't he here? I had assumed that he would ignore my request."

Hesitantly, Jim confessed. "That was my doing. I asked John to give you room in hopes that you would contact me when you were ready to talk. John means well, but he tends to quarrel. It was better if you stayed focused on the care of your son. None of us wanted to add additional weight on your shoulders."

Nodding to himself, Mac continued, "Thank you. That was a sound decision. I imagine that we would have come to blows. I don't think I've ever been so angry, Jim."

"How are you now?"

"Still angry, but under control."

"I believe that you'll forgive the trespasses against your family once we discover the truth."

"Jim, I'm afraid that the truth will cause more strife."

"It might, but the Triad will be the stronger for it. Tell me what you suspect."

"I think the person they were all protecting was Samuel. As soon as Caleb walked through my door, he immediately started complaining about him. He was – _disappointed_ in him, if not angry at his continuing quest for normality. Caleb doesn't often complain to me about the boys; it was out-of-character. I could tell that Samuel was weighing on his mind. Dean would do anything to protect his brother; it's been drilled into him by John as his primary duty since the age of four. Sam is becoming an individual and he doesn't want to hunt. John's been forcing him to go – disregarding his choice in the matter. If you were fourteen and were forced to do something you didn't want to do – how would you behave?"

Jim hummed, "I don't need to think very hard. I would drag my feet and fuss at those around me in hopes that I could get my way. I believe all of us acted in that way at some point in time."

"Samuel reacts as if he's the victim in his family's story. Everything is John's fault. He doesn't see himself as a key member of a team. So, he goes into the hunt angry and unwilling. He's not focused – as far as he knows, his father and Bobby are handling the creature. So, when something unexpectedly frightens him; he's left to his instincts and forgets his training. He shoots first and asks questions later."

Jim made a noise of discontentment, "Dean would take the blame to protect his brother from his father. Caleb would go along with it because he loves Dean and also fears John's form of correction."

"As does Singer. He's come to me, worried about John's excessive drinking; worried about bruises he's seen on Dean." Mac had stored the information in the back of his mind, trying to come up with a way to discuss Bobby's concerns with John without provoking a volatile response. It _meant something_ that he was more worried about escalating the violence and verbal abuse he knew Winchester was capable of, even if he couldn't prove it. He trusted his instincts. While he could report it to Child Protective Services, all it would do was destroy the Triad and their friendship. Dean had turned eighteen, legally an adult so their only recourse would be to take Samuel. John would simply take the children and run – the way he always did when the authorities were contacted. It certainly wouldn't be the first time a teacher contacted CPS. Sam and Dean would go with John to prevent from being separated. The boys would never trust him, the Brotherhood, or his family again – feeling betrayed. The tight-knit bond that Caleb shared with the boys would be shattered and so would the Triad's future. It left him feeling bound and frustrated.

Jim finished the narrative. "So, you have all of the members of a hunting party afraid of the Knight and conditioned to protect his youngest. Why then would they not call an ambulance or take Caleb to the hospital?"

The picture finally came together in Mac's mind; the puzzle completed. "Two reasons: the first is that all gunshot wounds are reported to the police. The second reason is the bullet. The police would run ballistics on the bullet and match it to the gun that Sam had fired. It would lead to an investigation as to why a fourteen-year-old was carrying a weapon on a 'hunting' trip off season. Of course, once John discovered who fired the weapon, he'd punish Samuel after the escape thus furthering the dissension between them."

The doctor stared at Caleb's vital signs for a while, deep in thought. "There's no solution to this, Jim. If we reveal that Sam shot Caleb, it will not only cause a deeper rift between the Winchesters, my son will feel betrayed by us. Caleb chose to hide his injury, risking his death than to disclose this secret. Even if I were willing to accept that consequence, John is still a major factor. 'Fixing' this will only lead to additional break-points."

Jim prodded his friend gently, "Mackland, in this situation, I am willing to take your lead. With your permission, I would like to speak to Samuel clandestinely. You're correct that he is the key player and will bring to your attention the fact that _you_ are _also_ protecting him from his father. He's not a baby anymore. He's a young man who made a serious mistake that nearly killed your son. There is a fine line between corporal punishment and abuse. I do believe John is using it as a form of discipline versus as a way to cause suffering."

Mac snapped, "And that distinction makes it alright?"

"Legally speaking – yes."

"Huh. You researched it. You know the legal definition of physical abuse." Mac shook his head, becoming agitated. "Does that mean others have come to you with this concern?"

Jim sighed, "My friend, calm yourself. There's been talk in the state government of clergy becoming mandated reporters and we were enrolled in a social services seminar. As I mentioned, I would keep the conversation between myself and Sam confidential. I would like your permission to discuss this with him. Keep in mind, we _don't know_ what happened. We are making assumptions."

"You're right. And yes, you can talk to him. You don't need my permission for that. If our _educated hypothesis_ is correct, then Sam escaped the responsibility that comes with an error of this magnitude outside of a guilt-ridden attempt at playing nurse. He's in school, going on with his life while his big brother holds my son as he struggles to breathe."

"Struggles to breathe?" Jim repeated worriedly, "Mackland, you said Caleb was at home. You mentioned that he risked his life – but, I had perhaps incorrectly assumed that he was alright now."

Leaning against the back of his chair, Mac replied to the concern in kindness. "Jim, you know Caleb. He was threatening to leave AMA a day after he coded. I had to negotiate for him to stay there for a few extra days. It's still very serious. He's looking at weeks, if not months of rehabilitation. He could easily end up back in the ER."

"Would he allow me to visit while he convalesces? I would like to check in on him and you."

"I'm sorry, Jim. I don't think it's a good time. I'll let you know when he's up for visitors." Mac regretfully informed his friend.

"Please, Mackland, don't add to your worries. I will include you both in my prayers tonight and ask God to allow Caleb a speedy recovery. I'll let you go now. Good night, my friend." Jim was solemn and sincere.

"Goodnight, Jim." With that, Mac hung up the phone, laying his head on the desk for several minutes before inhaling deeply and rising. He'd check in on Caleb and help him with his nightly bedtime routine.

-xxxxxx-

The first evening they'd spent outside of the hospital routine proved a challenge. Caleb refused to eat his dinner or drink his protein smoothie. It didn't take long for the doctor to discover why as his son cried in embarrassment when assisted to the toilet down the hall. It was slow-going, painful step-by-step, and Caleb refused Dean's arm when offered – asking him to leave instead. Dean looked rejected and Mac wished he could comfort the young man, but he had his hands full trying to keep Caleb from collapsing as they shuffled along. All he could offer was a smile like a grimace as Dean dejectedly left the apartment.

"Caleb, it's natural to have a little bleeding and mucus in your stool after abdominal surgery. It's to be expected but we'll need to keep an eye on it. The antibiotics that you're taking can cause these irregularities as well. I know you're embarrassed but there is absolutely no reason to be. I've offered this at the hospital, but if you'd rather, I'd be happy to hire a nurse to assist. Would you like me to arrange that?"

"No – I don't want a nurse here. I trust you." Caleb was quick to argue, still looking pale and unsteady as he sat on the porcelain throne.

"I'm glad to hear that, Caleb. Then I need you to work _with me_. I need you to eat your meals, take your medications, and allow me to do what is needed to get you back on your feet. I also need you to be honest with me about the symptoms that you're feeling. Can you do that? Because we need to be on the same team, son. I'm not the enemy and neither is Dean or Bobby."

"I'm sorry, Mac." Caleb's chin was low, eyes closed in shame.

Mac rubbed at his eyes, wiping the tears burning surreptitiously so his son wouldn't see him so affected. "No need for sorry, son. Just – trust me and let's work together. Alright?"

"I promise," Caleb swore.

"Okay, then let's get you washed up and back to bed. I'd like you to finish at least half the smoothie, Caleb. You need to keep up your strength."

Once they made their way back to the bedroom, Mac hooked him back up to the IVs and monitors. He wrapped Caleb's legs in the compression socks and helped him change into soft worn pajamas. The chocolate smoothie was sipped, and the covers were tucked in to keep him warm. Finally, Mac slipped the oxygen mask over his face asking him to leave it on throughout the night. With a gentle kiss to the forehead and reminder of the call button, if needed, Mac said his goodnights then left the door open in case Caleb called out for him.

He entered the master bedroom for the first time since that panic-inducing evening noticing that Bobby had dusted and cleaned his sweat-soaked sheets. Perhaps it was exhaustion or the fact that he'd stopped giving a damn worrying about the Winchesters, but the last thing that he did before falling asleep was leave a message on the Knight's phone to call him.

In the morning, he would finally complete the puzzle.

-xxxxxx-

The asshole called him at 06:00. Mac couldn't stop the expletive that slipped his lips when he picked up the phone, rubbing at his eyes and scooting himself up to rest against the headboard of his bed.

"Hello," he grumpily greeted. He'd barely gotten a cumulative three hours of sleep, setting an alarm to check in on Caleb every two hours as if he were a newborn baby.

"Mac," John's roughly spoke, not bothering with pleasantries, "I got your message. How's Caleb?"

Repeating a similar narrative to what he told Jim, "He's home. Spent the night watching television with Dean."

"Don't bullshit me, Doc. He asked to be released early from the hospital and you've turned your place into a fucking recovery room. You don't recover from blood poisoning and surgery that quickly."

Clenching his sheets in a fist, Mac fought to hold onto his temper. "How did you find that out? Bobby?"

In his mind's eye Mac could see the smirk on John's face, "No, the Harvelle's have managed to acquire a stray stoner-punk kid from MIT who thought it would be fun to hack into secure hospital records and your credit card company. I bought him a couple of beers."

"You've violated my family's privacy, John. I don't appreciate your lack of decorum nor your attitude considering _your_ actions led to this debacle! You should have taken him to a hospital."

John snapped back, as usual always on the attack. "Your son hid the symptoms from all of us. He hid them from _you_ – we're not mind-readers, Mac! Nor are we psychics; I believe that's your specialty. He knew better and now – he'll learn to never do this again."

Mac grit his teeth so hard that he could feel the pulse in his ears. "You cannot imagine how disappointed I am in you. Your bullheaded military tactics might work in a hunt, but you've got everyone so worried about meeting your impossible expectations that they'll do anything to avoid it. This isn't teamwork, it's being a bully."

"I'm going to ignore the shit coming out of your mouth right now because I know how stressed you are over Caleb." John was shouted over the phone, then suddenly stopped as if he realized how things were escalating out of control. "Mac, you know this was a situation of broken protocol. Caleb didn't call out his location and Dean shot him. Bobby and I got him somewhere safe; we stitched him up and thought the kid was alright. Do you honestly think I'd do anything to purposefully hurt your son?"

Mac put a fist over his mouth, considering an answer to that question. "I think you'd do what's best for yourself and your family over what's best for mine. And I think you are very capable of purposefully hurting those around you. You seem to have perfected it over the years."

"Really?" John was insulted, "That's what you think of me? I love that kid of yours like he was one of mine."

Palming his forehead, Mac sighed, "That's the problem, John."

"Ha. We're back to this crap? I'm a 'bad dad' – you need to get a new record, Mac. That one's getting old." Mac could hear a cap open, then John gulped something that wasn't a morning cup of coffee. "So, you're pissed off. I'm willing to make amends and let sleeping dogs lie. I allowed Dean to stay with you and Caleb to help out instead of joining me on the next hunt. What else do you want?"

"I want your boys. I want _both_ Dean and Samuel to 'help out' until Caleb is ready to head back to work. You won't be able to have your training camp anytime soon; Caleb won't be physically ready to exert himself for the next few months. Instead of your drills and physical fitness routines, I'll train them in emergency field medicine, infection prevention, and long-term care. I'm sure that helping me take care of Caleb will be an eye-opening experience. If nothing else, it should teach them of the dangers of gunshot wounds leading to sepsis."

It would be a simple yet effective way to get through to the boys as well as maintain their secret. Already, Dean was shaken by how ill his best friend was and he'd only experienced a few hours. With Sam there, Mac could casually instruct the boy in taking responsibility for his actions by tending to Caleb without being overt in his blame.

"Fine. But, you'll have to deal with Sam's bitching and moaning about school." John remarked, taking another swig of his drink. "How long are we looking at?"

Extending his neck to press further back against the pillows, Mac shrugged, then responded, "Abdominal surgery alone has a six to eight-week recovery time. The treatment for pneumonia, which resulted from severe sepsis, can take up to six months for a full recovery. Most people start to feel better within three months, but the fact that Caleb's white blood count is high, and he still requires oxygen… I'd estimate slightly longer recovery time."

"You want both of my kids for six months? That's excessive. You sure you're not overestimating your timeline?" John complained, starting to slur his words.

Mac wanted nothing more than to hang up, seeing red. But, as a doctor, he was trained to keep calm in all sorts of situations. After all, you'd never know – you might have a psychotic patient. "No. I'm not. You should know that – or at least your hacker friend should be able to verify it – since I've taken leave from my job and tapping into my family trust fund. Caleb will recover, but it will be slow. He'll have to regain his physical strength gradually as he'll be on bed rest until his vitals normalize. The struggle he currently faces is not only physical; he needs to regain his mental focus as well as keep a positive outlook psychologically. I think having the boys around will keep him from slipping into depression."

"Alright, then. I'll agree. They both can stay with you and Caleb on one condition. You don't let them get spoiled; they work for their dinner. This isn't a vacation for them." John commanded.

Mac laughed spitefully, "there's no way in hell anyone would consider this a vacation. I agree with your condition. Your boys will be put to work; I promise you that this will be one of the hardest jobs they will _ever_ have."

For a long time, neither man spoke. Mac was startled when he heard John ask kindly, "Do you want me there, Mac? I can only imagine what you and Caleb are going through – I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. You're my friend. You've been there for me when everyone thought I was insane. Just say the word."

"No, thank you. Just the boys for now. Once Caleb is up to it, I'll have him call you." Mac paused, "Thank you, John."

"Don't thank me – the kids will drive you insane. Call me when you want to vent. I'll let you go now and email you Sam's flight information as soon as I can."

"I'll keep an eye out for it. Bye." With that Mac hung up the phone and started his day with a new routine.


End file.
